ALIENS: CHRYSALIS
by Katzilla
Summary: What if the atmosphere processor in ALIENS never exploded? Go down a different story-path and see... Status: Book 1 COMPLETED !
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: No, I don't own Hicks (wish I did L) or any of the known ALIENS-characters. I don't even

own the aliens, except for the one I'm keeping as a pet in my basement. Everybody else

is mine… but I'm not making any money with them, either.

NOTE: This is a work in progress. Please stay with me and remember that English is not my

mother tongue…I already apologize for the screw-ups which are certainly going to happen.

Special thanks go to my clone Jesse (aka Corporal Hicks) for the tons of inspiration and

great ideas and AlienSlof for the hard proof-reading!

* * *

**_Entry 249_**

_'Death came to Phooka today. It was a major event after a phase of numbing routine, if not absolute boredom. The first event of any importance for weeks, but also much dreaded. I could see the fear and disgust on everybody's faces - behind their masks of curiosity- as they came from their offices and labs to witness the cryo-chamber being guided through the corridors down to the high-security compound. They all were trying to get a sneak peak of the monster, no matter how much they had spoken against this idea before. Darwin told me it's human nature. It must be, because I don't get it. People want to see the horror, want to watch it from as close by as they dare getting without running into danger of being bitten by it themselves. Every catastrophe has its fascinated audience, even if it will show them the most gruesome images they've ever seen, even if it's more than they can actually handle. People are drawn to disaster like moths to the light. Humans… what can you say? I'm sure I'll never understand them, even if I tried. _

_But it's funny how some of their behavior seems to rub off, because I, too, was eager to get a good glimpse of Raven as the security guards passed with his tube, but my view wasn't obstructed by a convolution of confusing emotions. I saw what I saw with perfect clarity and my full analytic capacity which makes me so darn endearing to my colleagues (sarcasm… another acquisition I picked up here – hooray): A man, bodily age (I know he could well be over a hundred years old, if he had been frozen for long periods in his life, but even I go after appearance) somewhere between his middle 20's and 30, sleeping the deep sleep, because it would have been too dangerous to transport him in a conscious state. A man whose physique underlines every grisly detail known about him. A human tank, muscular almost to a ridiculous point, but with an edge to him telling you there's real power behind his mass, that he isn't just a blown-up bodybuilder, who might be able to lift a few hundred pounds for a few brief seconds– but would falter if he'd have to carry the cans of instant protein shakes up to his apartment from the parking lot himself.. Yes, his physique is certainly impressive enough… yet it's nothing in comparison to his face. I don't know how to put this… how to do him justice... Even in deep sleep, frozen into a coma, this guy looks… lethal. It's the best word I can come up with. There's that slight curve around the corners of his mouth, the slightest hint of a cruel smile that tells you at first sight to get the fuck away from him, should you have the bad luck to run into him while he is awake. It tells you he enjoys what he's doing. He's the grim reaper, personified death._

_His head is shaven bald, as are his eyebrows, which only adds to the impression of looking at an alien, not a human being. His head and face, as his __body, has a powerful bone structure. I bet he's never broken a bone in his entire life. He looks downright indestructible. More like a cyborg than me. _

_Okay, that ain't hard, I know. After all, I'm human-looking enough to get Alexander hot, even though he knows I'm anything but a standard lay. But that's not the issue, right? I'm trying to come to grips about Raven, the worst psycho the universe – or at least the colonized part of it – has ever known. What is Darwin's plan for the beast who reportedly tortured, murdered and dismembered 123 people "for the fun of it", and is the suspect in at least a dozen similar cases on Beringh II? They 'must' have a greater plan for him. Why else did they "buy" him out of the death-cell from the authorities for heavy money, bribing them into declaring the monster officially dead to the revengeful public… only to bring him here? Do they want to find the messed-up gene that turned him into a human mincer and… heal it? Or develop it for future use? Ugh… I don't think I want to follow that train of thought. Although I guess it's very possible. Humanity is that sick. If I learned one thing during my brief existence, it's that with humanity, everything's possible. You can't predict just what they're going to do. Which sort of closes the circle.'_


	2. Chapter 1 - Arrival

**For Disclaimer:**          Please see Prologue

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CHAPTER 1 

"Hey, Ice…?" Alexander's voice, playful, with a scent of impatience. A mixture I'm familiar with by now. "Where are you?"

"Huh?" I heard him alright, but he'd be pissed if I told him I just chose to ignore him in favour of my musings on mankind. So, let's play the confused one. His finger traces the symmetrical black lines on my face. The Maori tattoo is probably the thing about me he loves the most. He never gets tired of looking at me or touching my face, of following the pattern with his fingertips. Hey, whatever keeps him happy is okay with me. I myself have cursed more than once about Rogue's strange ideas. Why the hell did he have to do this to me, his creature? It sets me apart from everybody on first sight. It makes me exotic, that strange, beautiful paradise bird people can't help staring at. It denies me any kind of privacy, the chance to mingle into crowds, to be an observer. The moment people set eye on me, they stare. It's not like I care, I can be a master of ignorance (an original Kurtz-quote, by the way), but it makes it difficult for me to study others. There's also that annoying habit of people to inquire about the tattoo again and again and again. By now I have my standard explanation ready for those encounters, but it's tiring. Screw you, Rogue! Virtually the only good thing it does for me is keeping Alexander interested in me, even if my behaviour ain't too encouraging, I guess. He's a good-looking guy with his dark hair and blue eyes. He could have plenty more than I'm offering him from other women on the station, including passion. He'll never get that from me, but it doesn't seem to bother him. Kira hates me for occupying her dream guy, every single look she grants me tells me that. How dare I synth-broad take away the man she set her eyes on? I smile at the thought of her envious face. Alex doesn't even look at her with his ass.

"What are you thinking about?" 

I turn to him.

"You." Right answer. He lights up, and his slight anger over being temporarily forgotten has vanished without trace. His finger's resting comfortably on my cheekbone.

"Something nice?"

"Would I smile if it weren't?"

"I don't know." He touches my lower lip, traces their curve. "I can't figure you. You're … too mysterious for me." He flashes one of his trademark radiant smiles. I return it.

"I could arrange an appointment with my creator, if you like. He could tell you all about my programming." Oops, bad joke. His smile drops from his face in an instant. Humor… something I definitely need to work on. Perhaps I should ask Rogue for an update, just to see his face. Alexander sits up and swings his legs over the bed with a frown.

"Damn Isis… you've got a way of turning someone off, I give you that."

"I'm sorry." I ain't, but I need him to tell me a little more about today's work. He can't leave just yet. I know what it takes to make him reconsider. My hand touches his back, gingerly, slowly tracing his spine down his neck, between his shoulder blades and further down… "Alexander…" Everybody calls him 'Alex', which I know he hates, so I stretch the letters in an apologetic purr. "Please… I didn't mean it. You know I'm still fighting with humor. It was just an attempt to make you laugh. I admit it sucked, but I didn't mean for it to suck. Please… come back?" He hesitates. 'Bingo', I think. Humanity on the whole may be illogical, but sometimes they are also maddening predictable. Men, at least. Alexander's head turns around, and he eyes me with suspicion. I smile innocently and pat the still warm sheet where he has been lying until five seconds before invitingly. His frown melts, and he leans back with a sigh and slips his legs under the sheet again. Another victory.

"You know, it ain't easy with you."

"Ain't this why you're here?" A frivolous grin seems appropriate for this remark. He returns it and pulls me closer. He smells of lotion and its various ingredients. Kira told me once his smell drives her crazy with want, but I guess I'm too sophisticated for those primal pleasures – just one sniff, and I could name every single chemical, aroma or pheromone used in his expensive designer-scent. A real turn-off, huh? Alex kisses me, and I react, stroking his hair at the same time. Feeling nothing. But I've got the technique down pretty well. He'll never know.

"You're pretty full of yourself, you know that?"

I nod slightly.

"Self-conscience. Another thing that drives the male homo sapiens wild." Enough of the playful banter. He still hasn't given me what I want." I roll on my back, changing the topic with the brutal indifference he hates me for. "Did you get to see this Raven-guy today?" 

He groans, his hands stopping on my breasts.

"Jesus, Ice…"

"I know. Another bucket of cold water you didn't expect."

"If you know so yourself, then why the hell –"

"It's important to me." I put some urgency into my gaze. "We've been talking about this for weeks, and now he's here, and nobody knows what will happen." My fingers play with the sparse hair on his well-build chest. "Ain't that disturbing to you? Knowing they brought this butcher here? What do they want him for, anyway?"

"*You're* big with Darwin. Don't you know?" He rolls onto his back with a sigh of resignation. The romantic evening is over. The fact just dawned on him. 

"Not a word from there. Everybody's real hush-hush about it. I hoped you'd know. Didn't Kurtz give you anything? Ain't you the one to work with him primarily?"

"Yeah…" Poor Alexander. The bed has suddenly become an interrogation room for him. But he should be used to this procedure by now. And I know he loves to talk about his job. He's so proud of himself. Pride has turned him into a regular chatterbox. Every time I want to hear about the secret proceedings in the labs, I just have to make out with Alexander Saitchev. At first, of course, he always tries to avoid talking about it, but he's just too darn intend on impressing me. Very convenient. If Kurtz knew how much I really know; he would disassemble me or order me to be reprogrammed. So I'm keeping the lid on my knowledge and play dumb. "And man, am I happy about it. "Sarcasm? Or does he mean it? His facial expression causes me to vote for the first one. 

"What are you supposed to do with him?"

"I don't know. Kurtz and I are going to have a conversation about this first thing tomorrow. I just hope he doesn't want me to therapy this guy."

"Hardly."

"I know. I was being sarcastic."

"Oh… ok." I bite my lip, my eyes staring at the virtual Arcturian meadow I programmed on my illuso-generator earlier, and can't help but wonder whether he's telling me the truth. My beautiful Alexander… is he capable of lying to me? Would he keep it from me? I decide to trust him this time. It's very much like Kurtz to give him his assignment on short notice just to keep it under wraps for as long as possible.

"Strange thing though, huh? Nothing happens for months, and then all of a sudden two ships arrive on the same day." 

My head snaps around.

"What?"

He smiles, obviously pleasantly surprised to find he heard the station's gossip before I did. A rare occurance. He gives me the scoop on the lab stuff, I keep him updated on Phooka's rumours. Quid pro quo. 

"My proud Egyptian Goddess…hasn't heard about it?"

'Yeah, tease me,' I think. 'After all, you don't get too many opportunities to gloat.' My tone is neutral.

"Come on – which ship?"

"The 'Orthanc'.  Strange, huh? As far as I know, she wasn't due until May… ten weeks from now. Makes you wonder why they came back so hurriedly."

"Did you hear anything?"

"I was kinda hoping you'd give me the scoop on it." He looks honestly disappointed. "Rumor has it they found something out there. But I don't know for sure. They either keep it under wraps, or it's total bullshit."

"That they found something or that 'Orthanc's' back?"

"Oh, she's back for sure." He pauses, then takes up his chronometer from the bedside table. Looks at me after a quick check. He's got an idea, I can tell. "How about a late-night drink in the casino, huh?"

"You mean to check if it's true?" I shrug. It's half an hour to midnight. I don't need the sleep, but my partner-in-crime here ain't a man of iron, and he'll have a difficult day tomorrow. He needs to be focused as hell if he's really going to handle that monster. I don't want him to be shredded to pieces. Really. "I don't know. You look tired."

He looks at me, then snorts. Frustrated, I believe.

"I am, actually… but I'm also darn curious."

I nod and pretend to think it through. In reality, I already know what I'm going to do. My hand finds back to his chest.

"Okay, I'll go. Alone. You stay here and get your beauty-sleep, and when you wake up, I tell you what I found out. How's that?"

"Naw…" He sits up, purposefully this time, and grabs for his pants. "I can manage. I want to see for myself." He gets on his feet and closes his zipper. Digs something out of his pocket. "Got a glass of water for me?" 

_'Excuse me?'_

"I thought you quit this shit."  I don't have to see the orange pills to know what he's referring to. He slips into his shirt without bothering to look at me.

"I will. But right now I need them. Kurtz is giving me hell lately. You know how many double-shifts he's ordering. I'm a lucky dog he gave me this evening off."

"Uh-huh." I start getting dressed myself, annoyed. I need him to function properly. What good will he be to me if he lets this stuff fry his brains. "That's what you told me four weeks ago. And four weeks before that. And-"

"Look, Ice, I don't need a lecture from you right now, okay? I-" The bag falls down, and I'm tempted to pounce and snatch it away from him. But Alexander is fast to retrieve it. "Dammit!" 

I slip into my shirt, the blue and black fabric blocking my view for a moment, turning my back on him. Humans and their faults… another opportunity for me to kneel down and thank my creator – thanks, Rogue! – for making me different. Sometimes it gets tiring to see them running open-eyed into disaster. I swallow what I want to say. Can't have Alexander angry with me. In the next moment, I feel his hands on my hips.

"Look Isis… I know you're upset with me. I understand. And I promise you I'll quit. I've got that vacation coming up in about four weeks-"

"Ha!" I turn around, my eyebrows momentarily meeting my hairline over my brow. "Like that's supposed to happen now with that lunatic you're supposed to domesticate! I can already hear Kurtz' laughter when you tell him that!"

His voice is calm, but intense, as is his gaze, as he grabs me by my upper arms.

"He will not interfere with my leave this time. I will have this vacation. We will. He has been canceling all my breaks for one and a half years now, and he knows if he keeps on doing this, I will either collapse or leave for good."

"Like he's going to let you leave." I brush him off and take a step back. "Damn, Alexander… you know you can't leave. Don't tell me you're that naïve. Don't tell me you don't remember what you committed to by coming to this place." His face drops, and his hands sink at his sides. If I were human, I'd probably feel sorry for him. Good thing I ain't. All those emotions would probably render me unable to get anything done properly. After all, I see it day after day with my colleagues.

"Yeah… I was stupid, wasn't I?" 

_'Yes, Alexander, you were.' He looks devastated now. Old… although he hasn't even hit 30 yet. With hanging shoulders he turns around to grab his bag from the chair. "I'll never leave this place again. Except for those stupid trips to Alpha Ceti IV. Damn, I can't even stand to see those fucking beaches anymore! This is a fucking prison! With golden bars, but a prison all the same." He's reached the door and pauses for a moment, his head turning back to me. I'm still standing on the same spot, and my facial expression tells him he's right. "Are you coming with me?"_

"Still to the casino? Or have you changed your mind?"

"Plan's still the same. And if I can't find someone to gush the news to me, I can still drink myself senseless if I'm getting too depressed." A sour smile tucks at his mouth.

I take a deep breath, mildly shaking my head.

"Now I've **got to go with you to keep you from getting wasted, I guess." I take a step towards him and register his relieved expression – and the sharp alarm of the communicator stops me dead in my tracks. We stare at each other. 'Kurtz'. Must be. He's the only one ruthless enough to call his slaves in the middle of the night… me before anybody else, since he knows I don't need any sleep. Which doesn't mean his calls don't annoy me. Shaking my head in shared frustration with Alexander, I press the button. **

"Dr. Kurtz! How may I be of assistance to you?" I say even before the monitor can build up the image of his age-weathered face. His diamond-hard gray eyes pierce me through the camera. The background doesn't look like his office or lab.

"I don't have time for a chat, Isis. I need your metal ass down here in Medical immediately. Ask for Dr. Hikahi."

Sweet as ever. Why waste any time on politeness? He ain't treating me like this because I'm just a machine to him… he treats everybody like this. I don't care. In a way, he's like me when I don't have to manipulate people to get what I want. Pure information, nothing else. Brief and to the point, without any waste of time or breath.

"I'm on my way, Doctor."

"Good. I'm waiting." The connection's separated, the monitor showing static snow for a second before it's black again. When I look up apologetically to meet Alexander's gaze, I can see that he's pissed at his superior. 

"You still going?"

"I don't know." He exhales audibly and shakes his head in suppressed consternation. "I'll make my mind up at the elevator."

***

The station is quiet as I stride down its sterile, neon-lighted corridors towards the elevators – a different one than Alex is taking. In my head, I call him Alex like everybody else. 'Alexander' is just too bloody long to put up with any more than necessary – even for someone with my astonishing processing capacities. He's decided to get that drink after all, so he's taking the express elevator to the 'Starlight Casino', our nifty after-work hang-out, and the only joint in town that's any good – according to most of Phooka's staff. Maybe he'll find his answers there. There's a good possibility the 'Orthanc's' crew will be there to celebrate their premature return. They won't be tired after days or a week in cryo-sleep – only tired of each other and eager to indulge into life again. 'Human nature' again, right? Even I know that... if only  theoretically. I've got no such needs. No nerves for anybody to strain or ruin. No weaknesses. If anything, it's me who causes people to go nuts. Mostly because of my way of getting things said: I don't lie, I don't varnish facts over, I'm not 'polite'. I'm brief and to the point, which is what I'm build for. What people make of that is their thing. If they decide to take it personal, I can't do anything about it. That's why Kira **loves me so much, but hell, if she's a long-winded, illogical, emotional fuss-pot who doesn't have the required brainpower or concentration to get the job done, she gets to hear it from me. Calmly, of course, and purely professional, if not to say 'objective'. It was astounding to see her red face while I dissected her failure at a recent project reason for reason, explaining to her each and every step she did wrong, so that she might take the opportunity to learn from the experience. But 'human nature' got in the way, I guess. The way she steamed during my lecture turned it into a learning experience for me, too: I know now what people mean when they say that 'someone's about to blow his top'. I was so delighted at the unexpected insight, I couldn't help but laugh... which of course didn't  help the situation. I found it funny nevertheless. Seems as if humanoid and android humor are just not compatible. Rogue would probably tell me to have a go at it, to try and become more human... but why should I, really? Why should I give up being perfect in my own way to become a being with so many flaws?**

            A soft _'Bing' at the end of the corridor tells me the elevator has just arrived. I break into a run to catch it. If Kurtz says he's waiting for you, he means it – he literally counts the seconds. And he **did sound urgent. I see a figure entering the cabin and speed up. **_

            "Hey, wait...!" 

            But the door shuts and leaves me to look at the counter, telling me that the person before me is already on the way to the living quarters close to the station's top. Great. I press the button and take a step back to check on the other cabins, comparing the blue-glowing numbers over each door. The left one's coming... slowly. It's a weird thing: The station is equipped from north to south pole with the most sophisticated technology available. In fact, many of the technical wonders we have here haven't even been introduced into the market yet. We're lightyears ahead of the rest of humankind... so why is it then we have the universe's slowest elevators?

            Another _'Bing', and the door slides open. I step in._

            "Level 9. And no music."  Communication between machines. We aren't polite with each other either. Just the bare facts. I can act like a human being, but given the choice, I prefer this. Rogue says I'm chicken not to try out all the possibilities he's programmed me for, but then again, he doesn't know how it is to be me. Anyway, what was the subject again? Oh - slow elevators,  that's where I left off. My assumption is that it must be pure intention. The station's pace is so fast, maybe they designed the lifts like this to grant it's inhabitants a few more moments to pull themselves together again. I know that Alex doesn't mind the slow elevators, so there must be something to them.  

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and turn my head, frowning. That darn tattoo... it's even the first thing about me **I notice myself. Before I see the shape of my body, my clothes or my face I see those black lines. It's almost like a camouflage. Nobody remembers anything else about me, ever. They don't recall my eye-color. They're almost black. They don't recall the color of my hair, only that it's very short. And black, with a slight hue of blue that's only visible when the light's bright enough. They certainly don't recall what I'm saying. Rogue told me it's a strategy. Some sort of decoy to keep the attention away from my face and the fact that there may be expressions on it every now and then people wouldn't expect from a synthetic. It's because I ain't a synthetic. I'm a cyborg. Human tissue over a metal endoskeleton. My skin is real skin, my hair real hair, even if it's color might be a little on the exotic side. My body consists of real flesh, and I bleed real blood. But still... I was manufactured. Programmed. I am an artificial creature, and I am treated like one most of the time. Officially I don't exist. Building combinations of androids and humans is strictly forbidden.  There are enough people who already take offense at the thought of 'normal' synthetics. But this being Phooka Station, those people and their laws are very far away. **

            _'Bing'! _

            I've reached my destination, the station's hospital wing. Its bright neon-lights greet me as I step out of the cabin and make my way to Dr. Hikahi's station to the right end of the corridor. It's quiet here, too. It's not just the nightshift. There aren't too many sick or injured on this station, ever. Our decontamination procedures are the best, and so even our rare visitors can't bring any viruses to the station. With the exception of the gardens on its very top, our habitat is completely sterile. It allows us to keep the hospital installation small in comparison to the number of people working here. A good thing, since space is very limited on Phooka, despite of its massive size. 

 But everybody is aware that there's a backside to this medal, too. A very good reason for us to never leave the station and its outpost on the close planet we're using for vacation – a simple cold could kill us. Well, not me, obviously, but everybody else. Their immunity systems have been reduced to the status of newborns due to the lack of bacteria or viruses. I don't think this is just a sad side-effect of being so far off the rest of human civilization however. Knowing Kurtz and the ones he's receiving his orders from, I would bet my next 10 updates that this is exactly what he intended to create here. An insurance for him that nobody would ever dare leaving Phooka on his own free will, much stronger than any contract or promise could ever be.  I wonder whether it was his or Darwin's idea. Kurtz is the nominal head of this place and has the last word in every decision, but without Darwin's genius and cooperation he would be nothing. He knows it, and everybody else, too. It's tearing him apart to depend on someone, and the fact that this certain someone is perfectly aware of the situation and by no means the most diplomatic person in existence is probably the reason for his constantly rotten mood. Nobody enjoys working with Kurtz, and everybody's constantly trying to escape his attention.

            I'm curious to hear what he wants from me at this time of the day... or rather, night. He doesn't care for etiquette, but he wouldn't call me in the middle of the night for nothing, either. I pass by the nurses' room, but there's nobody in there. Nobody in sight I could ask where to find Kurtz, so I enhance my audio intake – people would say, "strain my ears" – and pick up some commotion from the ICU further down the floor, located behind massive automatic doors and inaccessible for me. I step up and press the call-button, then turn around to look down the way I came. Still nobody to be seen. The place appears perfectly deserted. From the sounds of it, they're all in here. The sound of steps makes me turn. It's the girl who's coming to let me in. She looks worried and eager to take off again to where she came from.

            "They're in Unit 4. Please use DeCon 3. 4 is defect."

            "I don't see why I should decontaminate at all, Keisha," I complain. "There's nothing on this station I could spoil the room with, and Kurtz is waiting for me." She looks me straight in the eye, angry and defensive at the same time. I'm still amazed at how one can be both. To me, you're either intimidated and shut the fuck up, or you jump at the person who causes you grief.

            "You might not like it, Isis, but MedLab is **_our territory, and _****_everybody has to follow the same rules. Everybody. Even you."_**

            I look at her from above. Even though I'm only a couple of inches taller than her, I have the capability to 'look down' on everybody, even people taller than me. It's a mindset. 

            "Except I'm not like **_everybody." I see her eyes narrow, but continue before she can throw anything in which would delay me further: "But I will follow your stupid little rules, just to make you happy." I leave her standing behind me and make for DeCon 3 to the left. She's saying something to my back, which I don't care to hear. Decontamination – you step into a tiny cabin, much like a shower cabin, and get dosed with a mist so fine it enters your pores, your mouth, your lungs. Most people hate the procedure. Alex claims the stuff makes him gag, and that he'll never get accustomed to it no matter how often he has to inhale it. I've got no problems with it. I taste the ingredients and can immediately tell what's in it, but I don't have any 'real' taste. So I put DeCon behind me and enter ICU 4, which – in sharp contrast to the rest of the station – appears crowded. _**

There's Kurtz, Dr. Hikahi... and two of his staff, busy with the set-up of the unit's instruments. A cryo-tube has been rolled next to the bed, its glowing lights telling that it's still operative. There's somebody in there, frozen. 'Raven?' I think. Can't be. They'd never let him out of the high-security compound, no matter what the problem. Kurtz turns his head briefly in my direction and I know he's noticed my arrival, but for the moment he seems to be completely involved in a heated discussion with the doctor.

"I don't care what you say, Doctor," he says right now, his voice determined. "You've got the best equipment of all colonized worlds here at your disposal. There must be a way. He's still alive, and he should get better as soon as you start the treatment."

Hikahi doesn't look happy.

"Dr. Kurtz..." he inhales deeply, shaking his head and pointing towards his frozen patient. "Yes, he is still alive. But look at him: He's the worst case of radiation poisoning I've ever seen. There would hardly be a chance to cure him even if his constitution were better. He's so unstable, I dare not take him out of the tube! He'll die within 5 minutes if we shut down the controls – and it takes at least 8 minutes to take him out and hook him up to our life-sustaining systems. Just look at the controls – he barely has a pulse. He's as good as dead."

I risk a glance into the cryo-tube and see immediately what he means. The man inside looks haggard, nothing more than skin and bones. His face is red and raw, blistered and covered with seeping wounds. Likewise his neck and hands. I can't see the rest of his skin because of the dirty clothes that still cover him, but I'm sure it's the same there. I can tell they must have been in a hurry to freeze him if they didn't even dare to get these torn, dirt and blood-stained lumps off him first. He would probably have died under their hands in the meantime. A Colonial Marine, it appears. There are many military and para-military groups out there, but I recognize the dog-tags lying on his non-moving chest. His camouflage pants are also tell-taling. The right leg is ripped and blood-soaked.

"You are not here to cure colds, Dr. Hikahi," my boss sneers, sweet as ever. "And I don't pay you a fortune because you're a master in the art of removing inflammed appendixes either. You're here because you wanted to play with the newest developments in medicine. I've given them to you. Now make good use of them. Show us they work. Convince me I made the right decision when I put you in command of this medical station. Or aren't you as capable a doctor as your personal record would lead the reader to assume?"

"Dr. Kurtz-"

"I don't want to hear your whining and complaining, Dr. Hikahi. You came here to be challenged. This is your challenge. I want this man to live. Are you up to it? Or should I start looking for your replacement?"

From the corners of my eyes I see the two nurses pause and look up, their lips pressed together. Their boss is walking the tightrope here. Kurtz is nobody to utter empty threats. If he says he's going to axe Hikahi, he will do so. Without thinking twice about it. A leaden silence fills the room, only broken by the humming of the instruments and the sound of the soldier's feeble heartbeat. The chief of Sickbay looks desperate. Finally he nods, resignation in his features.

"Alright. I'll try." _'Wrong word, doctor.' I can foretell Kurtz' reaction and turn my back on the two combatants to inspect the object of interest further. I don't envy Hikahi – by the looks of it, he's facing impossible odds. The man looks dead already. I estimate his bodily age around 30, maybe a little younger or older. He's so emaciated, it's hard to tell. His dark-blond hair is a dirt-matted chaos, strands of it glued to his brow. A stubbly beard covers his chin. Even though he's in a coma, the expression on his face is that of a man who has been through a lot. In the background I hear my boss's tirade about 'not trying, but doing the deed'. He's really intend of saving this guy. I wonder why and turn my head slightly to read the engraving on his dog-tags, when Kurtz finally decides to address me._

"Isis, I need you for a special assignment."

"Yes?" I look up and take a step back as Hikahi brushes past me in suppressed anger. They're getting ready to open the cryo-tube. Kurtz steps up to my side and lowers his voice.

"When they take him out, I want you to take his dog-tags and pull one of your infamous hacker-jobs. Hook yourself up to the USCM database and get me everything you can find about this man. I want to know everything – where he went to boot-camp, who his instructors were, his squad, everything about the missions he was a part of. His skills, personal record, judgments by his superiors… everything. Think you can have this ready for me tomorrow by noon?"

It's a tall order, and he knows it. Otherwise he wouldn't ask me, but simply give me the order. I shrug.

"I'll give it my best shot, Dr. Kurtz. But it's been a while since I've been in the USCM database. They may have changed the coding. I _know they're changing the passwords every day, and I suspect they have gotten more careful since my last visit." He looks at me confidently. It's an expression not many of us ever get to see._

"If anyone can make the USCM computer talk, it's you." He grabs my shoulder and squeezes it. An odd show of affection from Phooka's mighty man I'm hardly ready for. "This is why you're here. Make me proud, Isis." 

I stare at him wordlessly, but before I can utter my other concerns I'm interrupted by the hissing of the opening cryo-tube. A cold draught passes by us and brings with it the sweet stench of infection. I assume it's the leg and see Hikahi pale. The odds against him have just risen another notch. The Arcturian inhales sharply and gets to work, ordering us back and his assistants to his sides to help him lift his patient onto the waiting bed. The rising alarm from the instruments the man is connected to tells us he's going downhill already. I watch silently, inwardly not expecting Kurtz's object of interest to live through the next ten minutes, and see my boss step up against Hikahi's protests to snatch the chain with the dog-tags from the soldier's neck. He presses them into my hand.

"Here, Isis. Do your thing. If you find anything important, you can reach me here for the next hour."

I almost laugh. How ridiculous. Thanks to my nature though, I manage to keep a straight face.

"Doctor, you know how long it takes to get an answer out here. Even if I didn't have to sneak in through the backdoor-"

He waves me off impatiently, his eyes glued to the efforts of the medical staff.

"You still here, Isis?"

I shut up. He might be unusually fond of me occasionally, but his patience has limits. I can take a hint and turn on my heels, not listening to the muddle of voices behind me  - Hikahi's voice saying something about having better chances to save the marine if he took his leg off, to which my boss's reply is a simple, firm "No." - as I leave ICU 4. Chances are my work will be completely useless. Even if I get the USCM computer to spill its secrets to me tonight, they're likely to be the secrets of a dead man in the morning. But I've got my orders. I pass the heavy door which separates ICU from the rest of the hospital wing and make for the elevator, turning the dog-tags in my hand to see whose life I'm going to lay open. The name is 'Dwayne Hicks.'


	3. Chapter 2

**FOR DISCLAIMER:**                          Please see Prologue

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CHAPTER 2 

It's bodies are legion, its mind is one. It has no eyes to see the blackness enveloping its thousand chrysalises. It doesn't need to see. Its senses every inch of its vast temple, feels them with the senses of its thousands of sleeping bodies, which have been waiting patiently for ages to come into being. Smells their chemical messages with each pore of its bodies. Longing to join the stream. To… _become. Time has no meaning. To the being, there's no such thing as age. Its bodies will not age in the chrysalis. They will not die. They will last forever. Until they are called into __being to perform the one act their shape is destined to fulfill. To jump, to grab, to not let go until the body has condensed its essence to a microscopic thing, protected by a hard shell, which is planted into the new chrysalis by the last spasm of the old, empty hull before it falls off.  Then is the time for __'becoming'. The new body needs energy to grow; energy which surrounds it everywhere, plentiful in its warm, moist cave. If it takes too much of it, the energy will die… but it never happens. The new body grows, and in doing so, its newly awakened mind joins the stream again. It grows.. until it is time to change again. The cave is too small now for the new form, and the stream tells it to leave it… to shed it's old skin, because it too is becoming too small. And finally - it __'becomes' – another extension of the stream, equipped with new senses and a powerful body. A body with a sole purpose – to serve the stream, to help it grow stronger and stronger and stronger… until everything is one._

But the stream has been cut. There's nothing now to listen to but total, utter silence. No pictures, no impulses, no smells enter the mind; nothing leaves it. The being's reduced to a one. It aches, sending out a pattern of questions, searching for the connection, but there is no answer. But there's movement – it jumps, not thinking. Pure reflex. Like it's done many times before, just as fruitlessly. And again its fingers don't find a grip, they slide down on the smooth surface… it doesn't remember its failures, doesn't learn. Every motion could be its path towards 'becoming', towards the stream, so it reacts… until there is no more energy left to feed its muscles. Until it hangs unmoving in the liquid which surrounds it, waiting for its strength to return. While it floats, the being picks up a distant echo, only the faintest trace to what it once was surrounded by. Nothing in comparison to the stream, but … a beginning. The mind has found another body…

"Boo!" The facehugger twitches in the liquid, its long, spidery fingers flexing, the long muscular tail shooting forward against the glass… but there's no strength in the attack. It has been reacting to each and every movement behind the invisible barrier for hours, and the fact that it's been out of its chrysalis for well over two months now without any nourishment doesn't help. Its reserves are slowly coming to an end. If it doesn't find a host soon, it will die without having completed the circle. Its essence will vanish and be lost for the hive. A face appears close to the barrier, distorted by the glass, but the facehugger doesn't react this time.

**            "Hey! Hey ugly! Yeah, I'm talking to you!" The man outside knocks his knuckles against the container, sending off vibrations into the liquid. It wants to jump, oh yes, the reflex is there… but nothing happens. The intruder straightens himself and shakes his head. "Must have fallen into a coma or somethin'."**

            "Don't blame it, Skinny," a female voice behind him says. "It happens to everyone who can't avoid listening to you." The addressee turns around, annoyed**.**

            "I wasn't talking to you, Granny." His remark's hit home. The hurt on his colleagues' face is obvious, and for a brief second, Collin 'Skinny' Scylar, Doctor of Experimental Genetics Phd. , hates himself… but the moment is fleeting, and it doesn't prevent the malicious grin which belongs to his words from spreading over his face. _'That was a shitty thing to say, Skin… yeah, but fun, man!' He knows fully well that what happened to Kira Katana could happen to himself anytime, too. Destiny sure can be funny sometimes: Here you are, a 28 year old brilliant and decent-looking scientist, making tons of money, living in a great relationship, planning your wedding, family, kids, career… and then you wake up from cryo-sleep after a trip to the colonies' most-desired vacation destination… to find out time has stolen you 30 years of your life! Kira Katana went to sleep in a young body, trusting the technology with her life as she had done countless times before… After all, what could possibly happen during five days of hypersleep, right?  … and all of a sudden found herself in the fall of her lifetime. Up to this day nobody has even has an answer for her as to what caused the cryo-tube to accelerate her body functions instead of slowing them down. It's been a freak occurance, one of a kind bad luck. None of the extensive checks later on could provide any kind of explanation for either the technicians nor for her. The tube in question has been put out of service of course. It's been checked… and checked again… and checked again… and now it's standing in a storage room on Phooka, somewhere on one of the sublevels, left to rot and take its secret with it. _

            "Asshole!" the tragic victim snaps at Scylar, red-hot anger glaring in her eyes, but before she or her opponent can think of further compliments to throw into the discussion, they get interrupted by a firm, hard: "Stop it! Both of you!"

Both turn their heads, caught. Blushing as they meet the annoyed gaze of the fair, slender young woman, who's entering Lab #1 together with a visitor they've seen before. 

            "Excuse me, Mr. Burke, but you already know the pathetic people I've got to work with." An icy glance orders the two combatants to go about their business. The company representative is momentarily caught off-guard by his host's blunt introduction of her colleagues, but manages to keep his composure as he steps up next to her with a squeamish feeling in his stomach… The soft blue glow of the stasis-tubes illuminates both their faces and brings back a massive deja-vu. 

            **"So… these are the killer-bugs?" It sounds somewhat sarcastic. But then again, Darwin's always like that. It's nothing personal. It's probably the only tone a genius with an uncharted I.Q. like her can talk to some Joe Doe like him…even though he's considering himself a not too dim light himself… but then again, he's probably more cunning than brilliantly intelligent. He knows about his reputation as the ****_weasel and sees it as a compliment actually. It's just a different form of I.Q. He eyes the facehugger in the nearest stasis-tube, remembering all too vividly his first encounter with that being, still half-hearing Ripley's whispered warning from somewhere behind him. His skin's starting to crawl again._**

            "Yes…"

            Darwin narrows her eyes as she takes in the creature's appearance. Again he can't help but wonder. She's still so young. She's also looking it, despite of her serious, detached and often bored, even arrogant attitude. How must it be to know everything, and to know everything better than everybody else… but constantly having to fight for acceptance because your outwardly appearance leads your much older colleagues to assume they could fool with you? Small wonder she's made sarcasm her dominant character trait. In combination with her intelligence and absolute lack of scruples, it's her most dangerous weapon.

            "They don't look like much. A bit like shrimp. Maybe we should fry them."

            "They are only an intermediary form… but deadly just the same_." 'The woman… the woman __he saw 'giving birth' in the twilight of sublevel three…' "They… they jump at you, choke you, and while you're unconscious, they implant an egg into your chest." __'All this blood…' "And after a few hours… or a day, they-"_

            "Eat their way out?" Darwin completes his sentence, not appearing to be too bothered or disturbed by the thought. " Sounds like an ichneumon-fly."

            "I wouldn't say they 'eat' their way out… it's more like they 'burst' out of people." Now this finally earns him a trace of morbid amazement on the scientist's face. "They burst out – killing the body of their host of course – and then grow rapidly into seven-foot nightmares… killing machines. I saw them rip apart an entire, heavily armed Marine squad." Her gaze shifts back to the abomination right in front of her, now definitely interested.

            "And what is it you want me to do with them, Mr. Burke? Domesticate them? Behavioral science is not my field."

            "It might not be your field, but I doubt you'd have problems adapting it… right?" _'Carter, you __smart cat,' he congratulates himself. __'It's amazing how you're able to find the right words time and time __again!' He can virtually see the wheels of his opposite mind in motion. She's intrigued. Finally something interesting to play with. Yeah, he's a cunning bastard alright. Always knows what's making people tick. "Any way, you do what you wanna do with them. You're the scientist here, not me. Study them first, of course. I think the creature's got a lot of potential. It's your call now to determine what they're most suitable for. I'm sure the military could be interested in it… one way or the other…and you know what that means…" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. It earns him a short nod._

            "Tons of money."

            "Exactly. And I don't think I'm kidding you by saying that these things… are worth more than their weight in pure gold." 

            "It's always about money with you, huh? You're a greedy son of a bitch."

            "Aren't you?"

She's chewing on this for a while before she gives him an unreadable, mischievous smile. He doesn't push her. His hook and sinker are out there, floating on the surface for her to swallow. She will. Oh yes, she will. Her eyes wander off to the second creature not far away. 

"There's just one problem I'm seeing right now…"

"What kind of problem? Problems are there to be solved, right?" He smiles encouragingly, but drops it when he sees her enervated frown. Man… he used to be more convincing than this! But even to him, his usual cheerfulness feels forced these days. Some of his usual 'Life is full of opportunities, let's make the best of them'-attitude has gone AWOL in the wake of the Acheron-incident, and it's a strange feeling.

"Did you only bring me these two specimen?"

"Unfortunately yes. They were already contained and attainable without risk. Bringing you more would have involved entering their hive and… having to mess with the … seven-foot monsters. Why is this a problem? Can't you clone them?" His suggestion earns him an icy glance that looks highly bizarre on the young face. He can literally hear the crackling of the ice. How old is Darwin again? 20? 21? 

"Right now I don't know more about them than what I'm seeing here, Mr. Burke." She pronounces his name very pointedly. "Meaning: Nothing at all. You know probably more than me. To clone a completely alien creature -"

He raises his hand.

"I see. I'm sorry… You know, there's something that will help you probably more than if I told you everything I've seen…" 

"Yes?"

"We've got the reports from the Sulaco, the warship they sent down on LV-421 with a marine squad to investigate. Everything that went on in Hadley's Hope was immediately sent to the Sulaco's database… including the preliminary scientific evaluation done by Bishop, their synthetic. As far as I know he already undertook quite intensive research on those creatures… and the reports from the staff at the station were salvaged, too. Lots of reading stuff for you."

"Good. Where are the discs?"

"Kurtz has them." She grimaces. "Sorry. You know how it is. As the nominal head of Phooka Station he's the –"

"-first one to lay eyes on whatever you bring. Yes." Darwin's chewing on the unwelcome information for a while longer before she raises her eyebrows and gives the Company rep one of her trademark 'all business' expressions. "Tell you what: I deal with Kurtz, and you bring me more specimen. There's no way I can get anything done with only two of them – I'll probably have to cut them both up, and then there won't be any left to do the breeding."

"Uhm..." Damn, he knew this would come. But as she's saying it out loud now, the words are putting the fear of God into Burke again. There's no way for him to go back. Not for all the money in the universe. But as usual, his opposite already has a working plan.

"Look, I can see you're shitting your pants about the prospects of going back. You don't have to – at least not down onto the surface. I'm sure I can get Kurtz to give you a handful of synthetics to do the job. No danger for anybody."

"But no guarantee the aliens won't attack them either."

"We'll get to that when it happens," she interrupts him, now that she already knows what to do with her familiar impatience. "From what you told me, I think it should work. These things attack humans, not machines, right? Whatever they'll do, we'll find a way. I'll talk to Kurtz first thing in the morning." She finally turns her back on the two stasis cylinders – with quite some reluctance, Burke can't help noticing with slight delight. "And you go and get some rest. You look like death on two feet." God beware it's real compassion which makes her add those words – she simply needs him to function, and a tired brain doesn't work very well. They're going to have some substantial organizing to do tomorrow, and the young genius has been blessed with only very little patience. So he nods.

"Okay... when do we meet?"

"I'll call you when I spoke with Kurtz. Expect to hear from me around 10 a.m." She stretches out her hand to touch the cool surface of the cylinder next to her, patting the glass. "And you guys hang in there, you hear me? We're gonna get to know each other a lot better... very soon."

***

It is early morning when I come home. Of course you can't tell on a space station, because its surroundings are perpetual black only broken by the light of the far-off stars or the glowing atmosphere of a nearby planet, but Phooka's designers came up with an expensive and nifty idea to make life a little nicer for its inhabitants: The corridor walls in the living quarters complex are long-stretched holo-walls, panorama-screens for the latest illusos, realistic to the point where one wants to lay down under one of those majestic Kauri-trees or jump into the water on a deserted beach. The illusion doesn't stop at the ceiling. There are no visible lights, but a blue sky with some scattered clouds, which sometimes form a dramatic pattern as if a rainstorm's brewing, only to be wiped away by a non-existent wind to reveal a rainbow. The cool thing about it is that the landscapes are always lighted accordingly to the time of day. From dusk till dawn, the lighting is always perfectly simulated. You don't even need a chronometer, because we don't have any seasons which would shorten or lengthen the days. Our days are neatly divided into 12 hours of daytime and 12 hours of night. Every day, every month. You can always tell how late it is by the position of the sun. If the sun stands over the venting machine at the end of the corridor, it's noon. If it stands over the green-glowing emergency sign to the right, it's about 6 p.m. Sounds weird? I agree.

I also don't understand why humans want to be tricked. Where is the point in walking through a virtual jungle with non-existing humming-birds flying around my head when the illusion ends at the next wall and reality hits me over the head again? Isn't it even more depressing to constantly see what you could have if you where someplace else in the universe? To even be able to smell the salt in the air on a beach that isn't there, only to step into the next elevator and let it take you down to the research level which couldn't be more sterile? Isn't it self-inflicted cruelty? 

Something rustles in the bushes to my right, and I know before seeing it's the jaguar again, returning from it's nightly hunt. I've seen it before, so I don't halt when it steps out into the corridor, but walk right through it. After all, it's blocking my door. I press my hand against the scanner on the right side and enter… to my surprise, I'm not alone.

"Alex… xander?" It's a little after 6 in the morning. He's got a meeting with the mighty man in less than two hours, so what is he doing here? Even more since he looks as if he could well use the additional sleep he robbed himself of by coming over. "That's a surprise!"

He looks up while he's blindly shoveling five spoons of coffee into the machine. I can tell he got wasted yesterday. He looks awful. Didn't he say he'd just be gone for a short while? He must have put it to good use...

"Yeah? Well, I came back last night after one hour. Thought I'd surprise you… but then you weren't there."

"Kurtz and his special assignments… you know he doesn't call you in the middle of the night to ask you a simple, brief question." I hold up the files and disc in my hands and lay them on the table next to me before I step up and give my most important source of information a good-morning kiss. He looks nervous. I don't blame him. After all, he's going to have an eye-to-eye with two beasts today…

"So what did he want from you?"

"The usual…" I shrug and turn to my closet. Since my flesh and skin are so real I even sweat, I'm longing for new clothes after this long night. And a shower. Not necessarily in that order. Damn Rogue, why did you have to build me so realistic? "Sneaking into fiercely guarded databases to suck out information about someone who will soon be a corpse anyway." I shake my head. "I spend the whole night accumulating this stuff, and I bet you next month's pay it'll land in the trash before the day's over."

"You don't get paid, Ice," he smirks. My back is still turned to him, but I can hear him smirk. I rid myself of the stinking shirt – at least I think it stinks – and feel his appreciative gaze between my shoulder blades… or – more likely -  my ass.

"Right," I reply dryly. "I keep forgetting. I'm a slave." Off with my pants.

"So who is it?"

"Huh?" I turn my head. 

"The person you checked out. Someone from the station?"

"Nope." I nod in the general direction of the bath room. "I tell you in a sec. Can I just take my shower first?"

"No.." He comes closer, a mischievous grin on his lips. "I'm too curious. You've got to tell me right away." The grin broadens even more." "In the shower. I'm coming with you." He locks his arms around me, but I free myself of him, not to his pleasure.

"Come on, Alexander – you need to get your head clear. You-"

"A shower will help me!"

"You already did. I can smell the soap on you. And getting your hormones in an uproar now is not going to help you deal with either Kurtz or that psycho… Sorry. It's for the best." I shut the door into his face. Not angrily, without any force, but I can tell he's disappointed all the same when I hear his miserable voice through the door.

"But I'm too fucking nervous… I need to relax…!"

"In this case you should spare the coffee and fix yourself a glass of hot milk with honey," is my good advise. No, Mr. Saitchev – no pre-work quicky today. I step into the shower booth, and the water rains down on me automatically. If he's still trying to change my mind, I can't hear it. 

When I leave the bathroom, I find him sitting at the table, seemingly drilling for oil in his scrambled eggs with his fork. Not looking up. Sulking. I inhale sharply.

"Alexander… sometimes you're like a little boy…"

"How would you know?" he scoffs, and I take my hands off his neck, where I placed them to make up for the shower he didn't get.

"You'd pale if you knew how extensive my data on-"

"Yeah, right, data!" He's still pissed and throws the fork down. "You know it all, right? You're humanity's wisdom in a box, right? You're all that and a bag of chips."

I'm already halfway on the chair next to him, but stand up again to get some distance between us. Why do humans have to be so complicated?

"Do you want to hear about the assignment or not?" Anger and curiosity battle on his face. And I admit, I want to know what he found out about the 'Orthanc's return, too.

"Yes," he admits grudgingly. "I also want you to treat me as if you knew I have some sort of feelings. And I don't want to hear again you're a synthetic! You always use this shit as some kind of excuse. And I'm fucking tired of hearing it, okay?"

"Okay…" I decide to give in. If I keep contradicting him I won't get to hear what he's heard.

"And I know you're just saying 'okay' now because you want my news! You're a manipulative, calculating…"

I can virtually see the word he's thinking of on his face, but he swallows it at the last moment. Reluctantly. It probably just dawned on him that he ain't that much better than me – he too is too darn curious to hear about my night's work, plus he wants me for his bodily needs.  Who should he take instead? Kira? Now that's a thought that'd make you laugh! He still wants me. He'd be a hypocrite to deny those facts. So instead of the heated words he's just uttered, his lips form an unexpected, but still grouchy smile. "Damn Isis… we really deserve each other, don't we?"

"I don't know about this, but we don't have much time left to get even, Alexander," I state, returning his gaze cryptically. He taps with his fingertips onto the table plate. "I suggest we get started right now. You first: What about the 'Orthanc's untimely return?"

He pushes his dish back. Seems like he's hardly eaten anything. I can't tell whether it was me or the prospects of having to meet both Kurtz and Raven who spoiled his appetite.

"Well…" he takes a swig of coffee – another good advice down the chute – and relishes in my curiosity, stretching the expectant silence for a moment longer. "Your friend was there."

I furrow my brow.

"My _friend?"_

"That Burke-character." I make a face, then frown when the significance of this little piece of information dawns on me. "I don't know whether it was because of his presence, but the others were as taciturn as the W.Y. database." Alexander shakes his head in remembered disbelief. "No, worse: They didn't just collectively swallow their tongues, they even lied to me! Told me some fairy-tale about a glitch in the 'Orthanc's navigational system they wanted to check on in the dock before they'd get lost forever. Do you believe this shit?"

"_Carter Burke is here?" _

"Yup. Arrived with the 'Orthanc' yesterday. Why?"

'Cause he was on the same ship as a certain Mr. Dwayne Hicks…' My gaze shifts to the disc with the accumulated files I collected tonight. That marine whose life Hikahi's currently fighting for came with the 'Orthanc', too, that's a fact. The question now is – was it just a mere coincidence they picked the two up along the way … or were they the initial reason for the ship's return? Nothing in Corporal Hicks's files hints at him being special in any regard. As a Colonial Marine, he is a member of an elite team, yes… but so are ten thousand others. Even his latest – and/ or last – mission reads unsuspicious. A typical rescue mission on Acheron, ex- LV-426. He was sent out with his squad onboard the 'Sulaco' to investigate on a sudden loss of communication with the local station, Hadley's Hope. According to the USCM's computer, it hasn't been restored yet. And the 'Sulaco's gone missing… I sense there's our story. I feel Alexander's gaze on me and look up. 

"You know something. What?"

"This guy Kurtz wanted me to check on…", I down a swig of artificial milk. My partner usually smiles at the sight of a synthetic sticking to health- food, but not today. Since it' real flesh that's covering my metallic bones, it needs to be nourished. I don't know how Rogue solved that whole 'digestion' problem, and I don't want to know. It works, that's enough.

"Yeah?"

"… he's a Colonial marine. Or maybe I should say 'was', because he didn't look as if he's going to last much longer when I saw him last night. He came with the 'Orthanc', too, that's a fact. And it seems that the mission he was on went awry… their ship's still missing." I put down the empty glass and can virtually see the wheels of Alexander's imagination in motion.  "Plus the colony he was sent to is still cut off from communication. Transmitters picked up an automated distress signal from one of the colony's atmosphere processors about three weeks ago… but it's been silent for the last ten days now… And get this: Carter Burke was on that same ship that went missing… on the same mission… Makes you wonder what happened out there, huh?"

My opposite freezes, deep in thought, before he slowly shakes his head.

"'Maybe we're reading too much into it. Orthanc's trip started _five weeks ago. It was already on it's way to the Gamma-quadrant when it got redirected, if your story's true. Meaning –"_

"- it's a coincidence," I finish for him, matter-of-factly. Somehow disappointed. "It _is true. I got it straight out the USCM's database. They just picked them up along the way. Rescued them from whatever happened on Acheron when they picked up the signal. But why did they head back to PHOOKA? They could have frozen them for two weeks longer and investigate on whatever they had been wanting to do in the Gamma Quadrant. After all, it's a pretty long trip from here if they want to fly out again. Why the hurry?"_

""Don't know…"My Russian's eyes find the clock, and I can see the storm clouds gathering on his brow. Only twenty minutes left until he's got to leave. He's never been good in hiding his nervousness, and I hope it won't cost him today. He's an outstanding psychiatrist, otherwise Kurtz wouldn't have sent his headhunter to buy him out of the – very lucrative – contract he's had with W.Y.'s sharpest competitor, LifeTech. He's usually able to transform all this nervousness into concentration, and the endorphines and adrenaline help him focus… he is someone who can meet a challenge, who can rise to the occasion. I hope the same will happen today, because he looks downright sick right now, as his troubled blue eyes rise to meet my questioning glance again. "But I _do know that Mr. Carter Burke wasn't his usual, annoying self last night. He was looking as if he's lost more than a couple of pounds, and his face was… how shall I say it?… He looked old… and hollow somehow. You know, that look people have who survived a catastrophe? Something like that."_

I feel my right eyebrow rise very distinctively.

"Burke? Carter Burke? Sounds pretty incredible."

"See for yourself. He should be stranded here for at least a couple of days."

I snort.

"You're saying I should chase him for a change, huh?" I get up to put the milk back into the fridge and turn around, lean my back against it. "I don't know… the jerk's too cunning. He won't talk." We stare at each other for a while longer. The subject's pretty much dead. As much as we like to speculate on things, it's easy to overdo it. Everything we both found out spells "Coincidence" here. After all, it's not as if the guy down in Medical is the first one to ever strand here… think 'Raven'… or that von Sontheim-character they brought here together with him. That was a pretty incredible coincidence, too! Even if they'd planned for it, it couldn't have worked out better: Not only did they manage to 'buy' the universe's craziest killer, no, on their way back they stumble over an unsuspecting little private ship in the shadow of Nova Lepidoptera – snatch it.... only to find one of the biggest thorns in Weyland Yutani's side in the persona of Axel von Sontheim on it! The man who's dedicated his life to uncover every little piece of dirt under the omnipotent company's rug. Last time he went public with his findings was the first scandal that really shook the big W.Y. and caused heads to roll. Since then all the big broadcasting stations literally battle to have him in their shows. After a slow start – nobody wanted to mess with the United Colonies' most powerful company at first – W.Y.-bashing is an official sport now. Kurtz must be delighted to have him in his hands now. Destiny seems to be his friend. A lucky dog he is.

            My man finally breaks the spell by standing up. His face looks ashen. I've never seen Alexander like this. I'm surprised he's so afraid.

            "It's time. Kurtz will have my ass for breakfast if I'm late." He puts his almost untouched plate into the sink and turns when he hears me stepping up behind him. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.

            "I don't care about Kurtz. It's Raven I'm worried about… Be careful around him, okay?" He nods, obviously pleased with my unusual display of emotion. "Don't take any chances. The guy will accept the first one you grant him to tear your head off." He hugs me like a bear.

            "Yeah, remind me of that, will ya? As if I'm not nervous enough."

            "That's good. It'll keep you aware." He kissed me back, and I let him go. He takes up his file case and heads for the door, hesitating briefly before he leaves the room.

            "When will you be there? Didn't you say Kurtz wants your report until noon?"

            "Yes." I nod into the general direction of my pile of files. "And I've still got some work to do until it is ready. I'll be down in about… say two hours from now. Will that do?"

            He shrugs.

            "It's not like I got a choice, right? But I'm looking forward to seeing you there. This is the worst case I've ever had to deal with… I could sure use my cheerleader rooting for me."

            "Cheerleader?" I ask, but he shakes his head and reaches for the door opener.

            "Nevermind. See you later." 


	4. Chapter 3 - Setup

**Aliens: Chrysalis (Book 1)**

**Chapter 3: Setup**

* * *

"-want another drink?" Alexander lifts the water bottle. The human tank behind the stasis barrier doesn't even look at it. "You must be thirsty after all this chatter." Bright, almost colorless eyes follow his every move. I raise my right eyebrow. Since the killer didn't say anything so far, I know my man is being 'sarcastic'. I'm learning… maybe I will have it all figured out one day if I just pay enough attention.

"Yeah." It's not the feral snarl one would expect from that bear, but rather a flat, toneless answer which compliments Raven's likewise expressionless features. It's the first word he utters. The move he makes is his first, too: Almost in slow-motion, he lifts his empty glass as an invitation to Saitchev to fill it up… daring him to step closer or order the stasis field that separates them switched off. But I wouldn't have put up with Alexander if he really were that stupid. He smiles good-naturedly, and I have to give him credit – he's got his nervousness amazingly in check – there's not the slightest trace of it now. He's concentrated, aware… and cautious, yes, but not afraid. At least not outwardly.

"Alright. Why don't you put it on the table there then, and I give you your free refill?" The joke earns him the slightest trace of a wary smile on the killer's face.

"Shitting your pants, aren't you? Why don't you come over here?"

My man's doing me proud. He's not going to have any of this b/s. He's simply putting the bottle down again, shrugging.

"Funny. I thought you'd be thirsty for sure." He folds his hands on his lap again. "You'd kill me if I turned off the stasis field." Raven looks bored.

"'course."

"Why?"

The muscular shoulders twitch.

"Got to entertain myself. Not much else to do here."

A slight grin that mixes both malice and boredom. He turns his neck to stare right at us where we have gathered in the crammed room behind the one-way mirror. He probably knows we're here. He's probably been in dozens of rooms of this kind. I study his cool, detached features some moments longer, then turn my attention back to my boss, who's rummaging through the file I prepped for him at one second, and following the scenario in the next room the other second. Right now he pauses to look up again and then slowly shakes his head to himself before casting me an annoyed glance.

"That guy's pretty full of himself. I wonder whether he's not more hot air than anything."

"He killed 123 people," I state evenly, causing Kurtz to furrow his brow at me, but before he gets a chance to reply to this undeniable fact, I hear another voice from the door.

"If he's hot air, he's enough to make a balloon fly."

Darwin. Count on her to be the one who can make Kurtz blow his top – one of my favorite expressions now that I understand it – with just one sentence. I turn and see her fair and slight appearance march into the room, her eyes fixed on the scene behind the mirror, neither acknowledging Kurtz's or my presence by just the tiniest glance. My boss casts her a brief sour glare which she entirely misses… or chooses to ignore, before he decides to stick his head into the file again. Being caught between these two constantly fighting egos is something all the others are hell-bent on avoiding, but I don't care. My relationship with both is better than with any of my other colleagues… and when they're busy insulting each other, I can always go on 'deaf' mode and find something else to do. I change my attention back to Alexander and his 'project' as Darwin comes to a halt by my side. It's a rare occurrence for her to leave her Ivory tower, so Alexander's mission must be more important than I thought.

"How is it going?"

"Raven's trying to get Saitchev to do something stupid, and Saitchev's not having any of it," I report. "So far, nothing really happened."

She shrugs to herself, eyes the scene a moment longer and then turns to Kurtz for a question.

"Is that his file?"

"No."

Nothing more. No explanation. He's not even looking up. Trying to get even, Dr. Kurtz, huh? There couldn't be a greater waste of time. Darwin's always calm. You can't anger her… and if you try, it's likely you will be the one walking away with a black eye, metaphorically speaking. Her youthful, fragile appearance is deceiving – on the inside she anything but a normal 20-year old, and people who don't know or keep forgetting usually find it out the hard way. Nothing you can say can possibly unfaze her – she's always the one with the final word, the smart reply… the hurting truth… and virtually no scruples to use it. Her mind is a weapon. Mess with her and she'll tell you what you never wanted to hear about yourself. Don't mess with her, and you get it just the same. She just doesn't care whose egos she's stomping into the ground on her path of absolute logic. I guess this is why I get along so well with her: In a way, we are alike… just that she's definitely human.

"Well, whose is it then?" she inquires, still without any trace of anger. If Kurtz really thinks she'll give up he's mistaken, and finally he recognizes this, too. He looks up, finally acknowledging her presence.

"Some soldier's… 'Orthanc' brought him here along with the girl and… the specimen." A curt nod towards the file in his hands. " "He's a colonial marine… might come in handy at some point… if he survives." His questioning glance finds me. "Did you already talk to Hikahi today, Isis? How's the man doing?"

"What do you want from me?"

I hear Raven's flat voice through the speakers while I'm recalling the data I've been collecting all night to fill my superiors in.

"Hikahi' was asleep when I called. I spoke with Dr. deJoria. She said the Doctor's been up all night to make that guy pull through. It's still critical, but… so far he's holding."

"What's the problem?" Darwin inquires. I don't know whether she's asking me or Kurtz, but since I'm the one who's most up-to-date, I take the freedom to answer her.

"He's battling a severe case of radiation poisoning… plus a badly infected leg wound." My glance shifts towards my boss. "Since his constitution is also substantially weakened, Dr. Hikahi can't say yet whether he's going to make it. According to Dr. deJoria the situation would be far less critical if you'd allow for them to take off his leg-" a brief, firm "No" is the answer to my rhetorical question – "The same goes for the girl… if anything, she is even more unlikely to survive." I look at Darwin. "They don't expect her to see this evening." The fair blue eyes examine me. I can't tell what she's thinking behind that detached, withdrawn mask void of emotions I'm familiar with.

"That's all the information I have for you at the moment," Kurtz states matter-of-factly. "What do _you_ have for _me_?"

"You've got more," she announces, blunt as ever. "I had a conversation with Carter Burke…" My bosses' mouth drops slightly at the company man's mention. "According to him there's a record of everything that happened on LV-426's surface… the data were transferred from the 'Sulaco' into the 'Orthanc's' system shortly before it was destroyed. Where is it?" With three firm, measured steps she stops right in front of Kurtz's desk and stretches out her hand in anticipation. I can see her request going down sideways his throat.

"The data will be available for you tonight. Right now I'm having them decoded and transferred into our –"

"Database?" she interrupts him, her eyebrows forming an angry triangle in the middle of her brow. I'm almost tempted to smile. _'Damn, Boss, you should know by now you can't lie to her!_' "No, you aren't. We both know these information are strictly your eyes and mine only… So stop the fairytales and give me my dupe, would you, _Doctor_ Kurtz?"

I turn away. It's always the same: Kurtz's desperate clawing for any kind of exclusive information he can get to astonish her with… and Darwin's finding out about it before it will give him even the tiniest advantage. He can't stand being inferior to her brilliant intellect, can't bear the thought of that "self-loving, arrogant bitch" as he likes to call her whenever she's not around being ahead of him.

Behind me, the discussion goes on. Instead of listening in on it, I study Raven. He's only been thawed out of cryo-sleep this morning, and most people would still feel miserable for the next 10 hours, but he's just sitting there calmly, unflinching, his full attention directed at his interrogator… waiting for the one mistake that would give him the chance to add another hide to his questionable record. He's still wearing handcuffs and shackles, but there is no doubt he'd be able to off Alexander in the wink of an eye if the opportunity would present itself to him.

My database on him contains his complete record up to this very day… reliable, ready-to-use, down to the smallest ugly detail. His M.O. is very distinctive. He likes to get his hands dirty, to kill 'em with his raw strength…and slowly, many of them over days, hunting them. It's like a sport to him. There were a few women among his victims, but most of them were strong, capable men in the prime of their life, men who wouldn't go down without putting up a hell of a fight. The best example – and by far his most prominent victim – being a certain Collin Jefferson – ex-champ of the 'Modern Gladiators', a brutal spectacle mixing Australian Footy, boxing and wrestling. In a painstakingly elaborate plan Raven abducted him one night after a game and drove with him into the wild, far off any kind of city or civilization. There he set him loose… and spent the next seven days and nights hunting him down. Hurting him time and time again, sometimes with a knife, sometimes with a bow… his fists… and at last, killingthis mountain of a man with his teeth by biting through his throat.

It was the case which ultimately led to his capture, because he left enough evidence at the murder-site that led towards him… a strange thing considering he had slain 122 people before without ever having given the smallest clue to the authorities. It's almost as if he wanted to get caught this time. Get the credit… the fame. Serial killers still radiate an aura of fascination to today's society. Is it possible he's been so proud of his last murder that the thought of having the public associate someone else with it has been utterly unbearable?

Fact is that for five long years, the authorities had been hunting a phantom. Raven's extremely gruesome M.O. had been distinctive enough to tell his pursuers they were dealing with one and the same man in every case… but other than that, he had given them nothing. Nobody had ever seen him 'at work', and with Beringh II deliberately being a rather rural world which doesn't possess the efficient technology of – say, genetic decoding – which is long common practice on most of the other colonies, they were unable to give the monster a face. A simple examination of the skin and blood particles left under the victims' fingernails in many cases would have resulted in a three-dimensional computer-simulation which wouldn't have left any questions open. But, well, if you choose to live in the stone age, you've got to put up with the bad side of it, too, right?

"- st give him the six guys and let them deal with it. What's the problem?" Darwin sounds angry, and I turn my attention back at the odd couple.

"The problem, Darwin, is that six synthetics are valuable. We can't just throw 'em away to collect you some funky new toys." Uh-oh... Kurtz is at his maddening best today. This is going to be interesting. "Why don't you send Isis? She always behaves like she knows more than all of Phooka's scientific staff on Phooka combined, and she's the only one who'll follow your orders blindly. Perfect."

Man, where did _that_ come from? Did he have a nightmare last night that made him get up as pissed as that? I don't know how Darwin manages to keep her voice down, but it certainly sounds chilly enough to make the temperature in the room drop a few degrees... well, it doesn't of course. It's just a figure of speech. My artificial inside's telling me that we're still having a pleasant 22° Celsius.

"My 'funky new toys', Dr. Kurtz, are the No. 1 priority of W.Y. brass according to Carter Burke..."

She sits down right in front of his table, looking into his arrogant, triumphant face unflinching. "These specimen are required for scientific research, which is the very reason of Phooka's existence. We've got an official order to 'develop' this creature. I'm sure I don't have to tell you about Mr. Burkes connections...or for whom he's speaking..."

Good one, Darwin. Make the old man realize that he may be the head of this station, but still a dim light in W.Y. hierarchy. If anyone of the mighty company decides they don't want to put up with a rebellious manager any longer, his head will roll faster than _Orthanc_ can fly. Her hints probably would have been enough to shut Kurtz up for good, but as usual she can't help it – it's an unspoken rule that she must add insult to injury whenever her opponent's already down for the count.

"You've already gotten your head chopped off for this von-Sontheim-affair, Doctor – and now you're sitting here in the middle of a black hole with no place left to go instead of climbing up the career-ladder. If you continue to be a nuisance to them… they just might decide to chop you off permanently…"

I can only see the back of her head, but I can vividly picture her sardonic smirk accompanying her words. As usual, she's hit the jackpot. Kurtz's face turns red.

"Not that I would break into tears if they did…"

"Just see to it that it won't be your head, you bratty little freak!"

Yup, things are taking a turn to more substantial niceties again. I turn my back on them, desperately trying to stay out of it. God forbid they make me take sides! Despite the massive insult my boss just hit her with, Darwin's voice sounds cheerful.

"They'll never axe me, and you know it. Unlike station operators, brilliant minds like mine don't grow on trees…"

"Get out of my sight, Darwin!"

"I will." She stands up, her gaze pinning Kurtz like an insect, all cheerfulness vanished all of a sudden. "But if I'm not in possession of this disc by 2:00 p.m. today, I _will_ be back. And I will be filing an official complaint to W.Y. headquarters about your petty little schemes of trying to keep vital information from me!"

Now this is one heavy sucker of a threat! I may be imagining it, but I think I see Kurtz pale slightly. There's no doubt a serious accusation like this could well cost him his job… especially after the von-Sontheim-incident! Count on Darwin to have the most effective weapon on her hands any time and be able to use it with merciless efficiency! I watch her back as she prepares to leave the room – as she stops to look back over her shoulder – at me.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Isis?"

"Sure." I shrug. I'm here. I'm listening. But she shakes her head no and points her chin in the door's direction.

"Outside I mean."

"Oh…" I look at my boss to find out what he's thinking about her request. Sure enough, the reluctantly intimidated expression has been replaced by a sour, derogatory smile. "Doctor?" He ignores me.

"Who's scheming now, Super-Brain, huh?"

"It's 'girls' talk," Darwin – unbelievably – says, making my eyebrows meet my hairline. I would have place any bet she didn't even know such a term – she's hardly an average girl/young woman. "I'm sure you'd find it most amusing, no doubt, but I'd rather prefer a little privacy. – Isis?"

I'm still waiting for Kurtz's decision.

"Go, Isis. Make Brainiac happy. Maybe you can help her come out of this perpetual state of PMS she's captured in."

I decide to follow Darwin before he can come up with further niceties. Stepping through the door, I wait until it's closed again before I face my human alter-ego, waiting for her to let of steam. But she doesn't. The dead-serious expression on her face as she turns around to meet me is an indication that the memory of the unpleasant discussion with Phooka's mighty man is already on its way to the next galaxy, as far as she's concerned. Instead, I find myself the single target of her focus.

"Isis, I want you stay away from Alexander Saitchev."

Just like that. Out of a clear blue sky. If I were human, my mouth would probably hang open in shock. Her deep voice makes the unmentioned threat even more intimidating. I can only stare back.

"What? Why?" Very blue, very large eyes pin me like a butterfly, almost seem to look _into _me. I'm feeling naked under her scrutinizing stare, as if I were some dumb computer with all files opened on the monitor for everyone to see. She sticks her hands into her blue frock.

"You know perfectly well why. The beautiful boy can't keep his mouth shut. He's already-"

_'Fuck it!'_ I think. _'Alexander, you stupid jerk, who else did you talk to?'_

"-on Kurtz's black list. It might not look like it with this new project he got assigned to, but your boyfriend is already going down. I don't want you to join him! Kurtz already suspects you know more than you should. He's thinking about having you reprogrammed-"

'Holy shit!'

"-but as long as I'm holding my hand over you, he can't do anything. I can only do this though as long as there's no solid evidence against you. Alexander's already in their sights, so... stay away from him."

I still can't believe it! That idiot...!

"What should I tell him?" The ice in Darwin's stare seems to melt for a moment. She seems almost amused.

"How should I know? I don't have a man to come home to each night. Think of something. You're as smart as me – make something up! Say... you've got to work." She smiles a thin smile. "Tonight, it's even going to be the truth!"

"Yeah?" I ask, weary. Another 'special assignment'?

"Yeah." She tilts her head a little to the side to take a quick glance down the corridor, but we're still alone. But she's still lowering her voice as she continues. "I want to you be in Lab 1 tonight at 10.00... and I want you to bring a Zoolander along."

"A... 'Zoolander'?" I ask hesitantly. My audio-input is far superior compared to the human ear, but...did I hear her right? She shrugs it off.

"Come on, if we call the compound 'Zoo', we can surely name its inhabitants 'Zoolanders.'" Again this scrutinizing look. "Are you sure you can handle him all by yourself? Cause I don't want to make such a big thing out of it..."

"Sure. You know me, the female 'Gladiator' extraordinary." _'What are you planning to_ _do with him, Darwin?'_ The question must be visible on my face, since she's answering it without me asking it aloud.

"We're going to breed us our first alien tonight." She's looking extremely pleased. O-kay... if she says so...?

"You want anyone special?" I recognize that our talk would sound sick to the normal human being. But she seems to be serious about it.

"Naw... surprise me." The corners of her mouth twitch. "Oh, and don't plan anything for later, either... we're going to watch the 'Sulaco'-records together. I want you to completely immerse yourself in this project. We're going to work on this together 24/7... this should give you a good reason to break up with the old chatterbox..."

I still don't completely get it.

"Darwin..." She's already turning to head back to her very own laboratory complex – the Ivory tower, but stops.

"Yes?"

"Why do you care so much... about Kurtz reprogramming me?"

The smile's disappeared without a trace, and the deep, serious tone is back.

"Because I need you for this project... and I can't afford to have an artificial Kurtz-clone looking over my shoulder each step that I take."

Our eyes meet. I can see she's dead serious about it. I nod curtly.

"Okay... 10.00 p.m. .. I'll be there."

* * *

It is 9.45, and the station's all quiet again, shutting down for the night except for the nightshift's staffs working in the various labs – and me and Mr. Larabee in elevator number 3. With a grimace I realize how bloody ridiculous that sounds. Like the lyrics to a very corny song: '_Me and Mr. Larabee_ _in elevator no. 3_...' Okay, enough is enough. I really wish those damned lifts were faster! Mr. Larabee is still out cold on the hover-stretcher I strapped him on, but over the last 5 minutes or so on my way from the 'Zoo' he's started stirring again. So far he has only been flexing his fingers a couple of times and attempted to turn his head without much success, but there's no mistaking that he's starting to wake, and I really want to be in Lab 1 once he's coming to.

Acquiring him was easy once I had decided he would be the one who'd be granted the honor of donating his life for the noble cause of advancing mankind's knowledge. I would have loved to take von Sontheim for it since he's such a pain in the you-know-what, but I know he's untouchable... for now. Nobody will do anything with him until either Kurtz or Darwin says so. So I picked the quiet, inconspicuous looking guy in the back of the cantina, sure nobody would miss the grumpy loner the next day. I saw to it that his dinner from the auto-chef was spiked with M3-43, our high-tech sedative especially designed to unfold its effect on a reliable schedule... and sure enough, 30 minutes after finishing his meal Mr. Larabee got drowsy enough to leave the cantina to go to bed... and was out cold when I entered his room 30 more minutes later with the hover-stretcher after the general lock-in for the night. He will be fully awake again in about 20 more minutes, as the effect of the drug has been designed to wear off especially fast. The entire action went smoothly and without problems. Darwin will be pleased with me.

My patient groans softly while my eyes stay glued to the glowing numbers as our cabin's slowly climbing up to the Ivory Tower. Darwin's lab complex got that name since everything's white in it. Blinding white. There's the common belief among people that all laboratories look like that, but it's far from reality. Darwin's 'palace' however fits the description all the way. It's also the place she almost never leaves, the young genius's realm of wonder. That nickname is so dead-on, practically everyone's using the 'Ivory Tower' term when referring to Lab 1.

Level 2. Almost Phooka's top. Above us are only the gardens... and then the blackness of space. I briefly wonder whether Darwin's had any saying regarding the station's design... whether she specifically demanded to have her workplace right next to the extensive park and the only piece of nature we've got here - apart from Skin's pet zoo of course. In my eyes it's very possible... Darwin doesn't suffer fools lightly and prefers to shut herself off from the rest of her race. She would loathe the thought of having to put up with all those annoying dumb-heads on her way to work every day. I can perfectly relate...

The cabin stops and I enter the corridor after the retina-scan has confirmed my positive authorization, steering the hover-stretcher right towards the massive security doors at the end of the moonlight-illuminated corridor. One last control – another retina check, a hand-scan plus my 10-digit PIN-number – and the door hisses open and lets me pass under the bright false moon on the ceiling above my head. To my surprise, the usually brightly-lit laboratory is on night-light, too, only illuminated by the instruments and various monitors. I rise my eyebrows momentarily while I'm looking around in the almost empty room, searching for Darwin. I discover her in the far left corner, seemingly talking to Scylar, who doesn't look happy. Before I can speculate on the reasons my valuable freight groans again, and when I look down I find some very confused green eyes looking at me.

"Wha..." his voice is not yet working again, but it's definitely time to get moving. From the corners of my eye I see my two colleagues watch my approach as I'm moving the stretcher towards them. Funny – they appear to be the only ones here.

"Where do you want him, Darwin?"

She tilts her head a little to see whom I brought her and then nods into the general direction of the connecting corridor.

"Compound 1. Everything's set. The specimen is already there, and we just checked the equipment... We're ready to go."

"Uhm... the specimen's already there?" Not that I'm afraid, but... My question seems to amuse her.

"Still in stasis, don't worry, Isis. We'll shut it down from here. After what I saw this afternoon I think we should be real careful with those things." I stare at her, but before I can voice my obvious question the Larabee-guy stirs again, and I decide to take care of him, first.

"I'll be right back."

It's a way of twenty meters down the corridor. The stasis field securing the small quadratic room behind it deactivates when I arrive. I shove the stretcher into the bluely illuminated room, just in time.

"Where are you taking me?" The man still sounds drowsy, his words slurred, but alarmed just the same. He turns his head to inspect his new surroundings. "What... what are you doing to me?"

"Don't worry. Everything will be fine."

Is it still safe to unbuckle him? He seems to be already pretty lively again. But then again, I'm stronger than any human being on this station, probably stronger than even Raven. What could he really do to me? I start loosening his ties – when he sees the occupied stasis tube on the floor. His body goes rigid.

"Oh fuck...!" Fine, now he's agitated. I fight with the last strap around his feet. Done. "Hey! Hey, wait! You can't- !"

A muffled thud behind me indicates he's fallen off the stretcher in his feeble attempt to follow me. I hear panic in his voice as the stasis field activates behind me.

"You can't do this! Hey!"

He yells at me until the corridor door cuts off his voice in mid-sentence. I head for the observation room and enter. Darwin's looking at me funny. As if she were searching for something in my face. Like what? Sometimes even I don't understand her.

"Ready."

Skin's looking strange, too, but different. Pale, with huge eyes in his haggard face. And he's uncharacteristically quiet. Did he fight with Darwin just before I entered? Or is he not feeling well?

"What's the matter, Skin? Mac sick?" '

Mac the Knife' is the single being on the entire station this freak really cares for – a 14-foot genetically enhanced tiger shark circling Phooka's extensive underwater laboratory 5 in his never-ending quest for food. It's Skin's duty to keep our little, but exquisite animal collection happy and healthy – after all, it's hard to get new ones out here... and they are always in demand

"Mac's fine." It's all he says. Usually he can't stop talking about the stupid fish! But I don't probe any further, since I notice that Darwin's eager to go.

My glance follows hers towards the main monitor. The Larabee-guy has come to a shaky stand, heavily supporting his weight by leaning onto the stretcher. His big, panicky eyes dart from the stasis shield to the wall... the ceiling... and – inevitably – to the glowing stasis tube next to him. The thing inside twitches, shooting forward its long, muscular tail. The field's still keeping it inside, but the man's stumbling backwards nevertheless.

"You can't do this! You hear me?" He's sounding desperate. Angry. "Let me out, damned!" He reconsiders. "Please!" I notice Skin's not looking at the monitor. In fact, he seems to intentionally avoid the images it's delivering. _She_ notices it, too.

"Skin, you knew this would happen. You agreed to it when I asked you."

"Yeah..." his voice sounds raspy. "It's okay. Really. It's just..."

But she doesn't want to hear.

"Then do it." Her eyes pin him. He swallows. Nods. And presses the bottom which deactivates the cylinder's stasis field.

"Okay... here we go."

Darwin leans back into her seat, waiting for the inevitable, hand folded on her lap. We all stare in anticipation at the screen. For some long, breathless moments nothing happens.

"Come on, stupid," she whispers to herself. "You're free."

The thing's long, spidery fingers flex hardly perceivable...probably sensing the change in its surroundings. Behind the tube I see the man's legs. He's pressing himself against the opposite wall, as far away from the container as possible... which is not very far. He's still screaming at us, but breaks off now as the creature turns around – still floating in the liquid - and its muscular tail coils up underneath it...

"Watch." Darwin. Cool, detached... 100% scientist. Not one iota of emotion in her voice. Then everything happens very fast.

The change is abrupt and radical, and it senses it at once. The field that's been sucking the being dry of its energy has gone. The atmosphere around it has changed, and as it continues to hang in the liquid for a little while longer, it can feel its reserves charging up again, filling its muscles with strength. A first, tentative attempt to move... flexing its fingers...and finding nothing working against them anymore.

Movement to the left, a shadow! Instinct takes over. The tail curls up into a spring of muscle – and catapults it forward, against the hard, invisible barrier that's been keeping it – and through it in a shower of liquid and shards!

"No!"

It doesn't have any ears to pick up the voice, but the sound waves reaching it is get absorbed by its skin – giving the being a clear picture of the source's location. It turns towards the soft blue glow further back and jumps again, finally getting a solid hold on fabric.

"No! Help! Help me! God –"

Something solid connects with its hard flesh, and with a lightning-fast reaction, it hold on to the thing which dealt the blow to it. Shoots its tail forward and finds a place to wrap itself around, pressing, contracting the muscle. Disturbance in the air, ripples of energy bouncing against its leathery skin. Close now, real close. Still movement under it. Upwards. Another hold. Almost there! The being feels the sound-waves emitting from directly underneath now. The right position! It ejects its ovipositor, digging for the wet, moist cave it needs to fulfill its task. There's still resistance. It tightens the spring its tail's forming around the host, feels it digging into the soft surface, drawing slippery moisture. Frantic resistance now – the being feels lifted for a moment... and then the battle's suddenly over, and the host lies still... ready to receive. A living cavern, throbbing, pulsing energy to surround it once it's shed its old skin... The barrier to its entrance falls...

All action has died down in Compound #1. All movement, all struggling has stopped. The two bodies contained in it have merged into a symbiosis. The thing's sitting on Larabee's face, nothing but a gentle pulsing of its flat sides indicating it's not just a grotesque mask, a tasteless joke. The man himself appears to be unconscious, not dead. His chest is moving slightly, but visibly as Skin's zooming in on it. Nobody speaks for a while. The creature's fast and relentless action has left us all flabbergasted. I glance down at Darwin. She doesn't respond. Her treacherously young-looking face is wearing a far-away, serious expression. I'd give more than a penny for her thoughts right now – to use a common human term.

It's easier to determine what Skin is thinking of the show. His attempt of guarding his expression has failed miserably – he looks downright sick. I'm surprised. Usually he's such an obnoxious, rude and insensitive human plague who's not bothered by anything you could think of… but obviously this is getting to him. I wonder why. From the corners of my eyes I see Darwin's head move. She's looking at me, that distant expression still there.

"Well… this was quite a demonstration, I'd say…" _'What do you think of it?'_ her blue eyes ask me silently. I'm not sure what she wants to hear from me.

"What's the thing doing to him now?" I ask.

"Reproducing."

"You mean it's fucking him?" Skin's looking ready to spill his dinner. "Aw, hell…I don't know...This is ugly, man!"

The young genius remains calm.

"I'm not yet sure what it's doing… or rather, how. 'Reproduction' may be the wrong term, since it doesn't procreate. Seemingly, it injects an egg into his chest …or his stomach. After it's finished with that, the hand-form dies and falls off. Usually within 24 hours. The host wakes up again, feeling good for some more hours, while the embryo's growing inside him… Within six to eight more hours it's grown large enough to hatch…"

"-to hatch?" Mr-Nothing-can-ever-shake-me swallows visibly. His eyes wander off to find mine for a brief glance, almost begging me to tell him that this is just one of Darwin's highly bizarre jokes. No, Mr. Scylar. This is for real. Better deal with it. "How...I mean... does it-"

"How do you know all this?" I inquire, cutting him off and ignoring his continuing stare. She nods toward the conference room. I understand. This is where she already watched the Sulaco-tapes. The biggest screen, the most comfortable seats... and a rather luxurious auto-chef. "It's all on record?"

"Theoretically, yes. Being narrated. And some footage of those things sitting on peoples faces. But not how they got there... or how they hatch. I got most of it from the records of Hadley's Hope's medical staff and some female Warrant Officer." She swings around in her chair, her fingertips pressed against each other, her elbows placed comfortably on her thighs. "I've been watching this stuff the entire afternoon, and I'm not even halfway through yet. What I want you to do is watch everything in fast-forward. I know this won't take you longer than half an hour, and you won't miss even the tiniest detail. Skin and I will start watching the rest, and when you're finished with your part, you come and join us... and you will by then probably be able to enlighten us whenever the plot on the screen seems to leave a question open." I smile at her confidently. "You know Isis, this is something I really envy you for. I'm losing so much time by having to watch those files in real time. I could be so much more efficient if I could just plug in and collect whatever information I need."

"Yeah," I grin self-confidently. "I like that about myself, too."

"What are we doing with him in the meantime?" Skin throws in, hinting at the still motionless Mr. Larabee and his pet. "Just leave him there?"

Darwin shrugs.

"Yes, for now. From what I know, nothing happens for the first day anyway. The thing won't move, he won't wake up... the kind of company you'd like to have at home." A hint of a smile crosses her face before it turns serious again. "But we should be ready for the time after, which – Ladies and Gentlemen – is the reason why we're going to make this night count. We've got all the coffee we need to keep going for as long as it takes. I want to be as far ahead with our plans as possible before I'm going to talk to Dr. Kurtz tomorrow. I want to determine how we're going to proceed, what we're planning to achieve with those creatures, where we're going to contain them... everything. Right now we're standing on an endless field of questions... let us dig up some answers, what do you say?"


	5. Chapter 4 - Snake's Pit

**ALIENS: CHRYSALIS (Book 1)**

Chapter 4: Snake's Pit

* * *

'_Entry 252:_

_A week has passed since my last entry. I know this is not acceptable, but the station's speed has accelerated to 'crazy' ever since 'Orthanc' arrived twenty-one days ago - for the first time… and then the various scientific staffs in the laboratories have been working days and nights in changing shifts since the ship came back from its second trip to LV-426 only two days ago. They've been successful out there, but at a high cost. We lost three of the six synthetics... among them Daryll, whom I'm really going to miss... but the high security compound of Lab 1 - Darwin's 'Ivory Tower' - is brimming with life now. Alien life. Kurtz and Darwin are careful though not to have too many of those things around at a time._

_The salvage team's instructions had been to bring back eggs only... or cocoons, chrysalises, or whatever they are. We're breeding them after demand. Right now we have two adults and one of those hand-things. From the way Darwin's been cursing while she's been trying to find a way of handling those things while they are still alive, I get the impression they are a big challenge to her. Probably the first she encountered in her entire career. That molecular acid those things have for blood makes it impossible to use any kind of standard equipment on them. No scalpels, metal or laser, no needles, nothing that penetrates their bodies. It all either dissolves in a matter of seconds, or the high-pressured blood sprays around and kills everybody standing there. Skin's got the hole in his hand to prove it! Not that I'm overly sorry that this annoying wanker got what had been coming to him for a long time... but it's been very impressive. Nobody wants to touch them anymore. So cloning is out of the question... at least for now. We've got to achieve whatever it is Darwin wants to achieve with the specimen we've got... unless we find out how to procreate them, that is. Right now we're concentrating on developing and studying their different forms._

_It's probably the first time I have to agree with Carter Burke: the creatures' potential is obvious. It was already obvious from the 'Sulaco's' footage which I saw together with Darwin in the Ivory Tower, even though those had been only two-dimensional images which didn't offer the full scope of what really happened in Hadley's Hope. The transmission was bad, the images dark, blurry and grainy. No, we didn't know then what we were about to be dealing with... But we all witnessed the full capabilities of these aliens yesterday, when Finnegan (another one of my artificial brothers Kurtz likes so much to assign to this project) went into their compound and – literally – lost his head. The thing didn't even look his way when it attacked him! Just one incredible pounce and it had him, and the next thing we knew his head – minus his body – crashed against the window we all were standing behind, gaping. Guess it didn't like him._

_Well, things are certainly going to be very interesting over the next weeks or months. It's as if the whole station's just been waiting for this... except 'The Zoo' of course. They know something's going on from the rate their number diminishes. That von Sontheim-character's a busy little bee... or rather, a major pain in the ass! It's getting harder and harder to separate the volunteers from the mob protecting them. So hard that we have to constantly come up with new strategies of separating them... like the lock-in for the night. Everybody sleeps in his own cage, so to speak. No more bothering with the other angry inmates. Still, I wish Kurtz would dispose of von Sontheim rather soon-ish. He's a notorious trouble-maker. I can only guess my boss in planning something special for him, or he'd done so already._

_Speaking of which: Kurtz assigned me a wonderful new task: I'm now officially the one to pick up the lucky winner from the 'Zoo' and guide him up to Lab 1. Probably because I'm the only one who will do it with a bland face They're all cringing at the thought of being the one who's got to lead the lambs to their slaughterer... so let's do the synthetic do the dirty job, right? I can't say no, and combined with my superhuman strength and lack of moral education, I'm the ideal person. I'm stronger than them all, and if everything else fails, we can still shut the inmates off and carry them to the lab. But since we're no sadists (ha ha!), we're trying to traumatize our testing objects as seldom as possible._

_As for 'troublemakers': That marine 'Orthanc' brought back the first time actually pulled through…. I'm duly impressed… and duly pissed, because Darwin assigned me as his babysitter. Great. Kurtz' is giving me hell, Darwin's giving me hell, and whenever I find the time to actually breathe, I find myself running down to Sickbay to see whether he's finally woken up. Alexander's pissed at me too because I don't have any more time left for him anymore (still haven't told him yet we've broken up… don't need any mores stress than I already have… plus his information on Raven is very valuable ), even though he seems to be in desperate need of unloading his thoughts about that maniac he's working with. I've had the time to notice he's looking bad, yes. I even noticed he traded the orange pills for the much more concentrated liquid version you take in through the retina – but I can't act on it. He's a grown man, and not dump. He must know what he's doing to himself._

_Even at night my two bosses are keeping me busy. Right now I'm on my way down to check on my patient once again, even though it's 3.30 in the morning. Hikahi called half an hour ago. Apparently, the soldier opened his eyes for the first time, and now I've got to see for myself. I'm not really happy though. If he's really recovering, what does that mean for me? That I have to sit at his bedside and hold his hand from now on? What does Darwin want from him? Why is he so special? Man… I'm sure if the day had 48 hours, they still would find was of making it hectic for me. They're really taking advantage of the fact that I don't need to sleep, but does being an artificial person mean that I don't need any kind of private life? Any more questions? Thanks Rogue! That's a great place you brought me to!'_

* * *

In spite of the late hour Hikahi' awaits me when I arrive. He's looking deeply satisfied. It's not like I can't understand him. He's beaten the odds here. Let's face it, that guy was DOA. Hikahi's making him pull through is nothing short of a miracle. The result of some of the research this station has been developed for, but a miracle nevertheless. I'm sure Kurtz will be pleased too, not just for having this soldier at hand now for whatever his plans are, but for having the first true proof of what his staff is actually capable of. Having the one and only cure for radiation poisoning of these proportions will earn Weyland Yutani _big bucks_! It's also proof that we are able to design something beneficial to mankind for a change. Congratulations, Doctor, I think silently as I'm walking up towards his smiling shape. You're going to get a personal handshake from the big boss for this!

"So," I begin. It's late. I want to go home. No time for talking around it. "The Marine corporal is up and rocking again, I understand? Did he say anything?"

Hikahi gives me a mild, somewhat derogatory smile.

"I said he opened his eyes for a few moments, Isis. Not that he's parading around again. Right now he's sleeping." He motions me to follow him. I frown.

"What do you mean, sleeping? I didn't come don at this hour to watch him sleep! I thought you said he woke up!"

"From the coma, yes. Sleeping and coma are two different pairs of shoes, Madam Super-Computer."

Did I hear him right? Did he just call me a -?! I stop dead in my tracks. Just who the hell does this guy think he is? I narrow my eyes. My nature's keeping me calm though, thank... Rogue. I need information. If I start making a fuss now, it'll be morning before I can return to my place... where Alexander the Unhappy is waiting for me. So I just readjust my tone to 'sugar-sweet' instead of turning the man's face on his back.

"That's 'Miss Super-Computer' to you, Doctor Hikahi. And yes, I know coma and sleep are quite different, even though the first can never happen to me and the latter would be a waste of my time, but thank you. You're not talking to an ancient Pentium here, okay?" Hey, I guess I'm finally getting the hang of this, because he seems to be a little disappointed. I can top it. "You know, being this super-computer also enables me to come to the conclusion that - unlike from a comatose state – you can wake him for me, right?" 'You started this, Doctor. I'm just playing along.' He's miffed. Another round won - yeah! Now he's stopping, too. Fun's over, I guess.

"I won't wake him, Isis. He might be recovering, but he needs the rest."

"Are you kidding? He just had three weeks! More!"

"That was-"

"Coma and cryo-sleep, I know. I don't care." I start looking around. "Look, Doctor, I don't have all the time in the world. My boss wants to know, I want to go home and get some rest myself. And you certainly don't want to bother with me any longer than necessary, too. So let's get this over with and make us all happy, what do you say?" It's nothing but sense that's coming from my mouth. But that cheap Arcturian apothecary doesn't look as if he can truly appreciate it. However, he's thankfully keeping his mouth shut this time – as he turns on his heels and practically runs down the corridor again with a sinister look on his face. Like I care! If he thinks I'll have problems following him, he's mistaken. I feel halfway tempted – tempted? That's a good one, Isis! – to speed up even further and outrun him... but something's telling me not to overdo it. He's taking me there, so I won.

We round a corner and he turns toward the first door on the left. It hisses open. I'm surprised to see the corporal's not alone. The girl is with him, checking his bio-readouts. I sigh inwardly. Of all the people on this station, I've got to put up with the two most annoying ones at this time of night? I keep my face void of these emotions. Hikahi wanted the machine, so let's give it to him.

"Keisha?" He steps up to the bed and takes a look himself, while I decide to stay a little behind and observe. "How is he?" He's keeping his voice down. Man, he's supposed to wake him up anyway, so why bother? The youth casts me another one of these nasty glances she seems to have reserved for me, only, but talks to her boss.

"Sleeping." She points the finger. "Deep in R.E.M. sleep. See the eye movement? He's dreaming. I'd say his condition has incredibly improved over the last 24 hours."

That's all very nice, but doesn't get me anywhere.

"So, then let's wake him, shall we?" I suggest cheerfully. It earns me another glare. I ignore her. Hikahi sighs. "What's the problem, Doctor? I thought you hated the USCM. Shouldn't you be rather enjoying this? And what about you, Keisha? You're both from Arcturus!"

He turns around again to face me, face so earnest I'm tempted – again! – to laugh.

"First and foremost, Isis, I'm a doctor. I took an oath.-"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," I murmur, uninterested. "That stupid oath... something about honor and morality and...I'm sorry, I forgot the rest."

"It doesn't involve torturing patients by uselessly-"

"Torturing?" This is absurd. "I didn't know waking people falls under that term, Dr. Hikahi, but right now I frankly don't have the nerve to discuss this interesting topic with you. You said you'd wake him. Would you do that now, please?" I even said 'Please' - I'm proud of myself. Perfect manners, Isis!

"What do you want from him? He won't be able to give you anything anyway. I'd be surprised if he'd be coherent enough to say anything at all, let alone telling you the story of his life!"

"_I_ don't want anything from him, Doctor. Kurtz wants. Go on and call him if you must! I'm sure he will be delighted to hear your reason for not waking the man for me." I'm in the middle of going on when I notice something. A piece of gauze on the back of the still peacefully sleeping soldier's neck. I'm surprised. "You didn't tell me you already gave him the implant! When-"

"Just this morning, Isis, okay? I would have told you if you'd let me." He's not looking at me, but down onto his patient. "I had to wait until he was stable enough for the surgery."

I step closer. Of course – I should have seen it at first sight. The corporal's not hooked up to all those wires anymore... but his readouts are still there for us to admire. I also must admit he's looking somewhat better than before. His raw face has all but healed, although he's still deadly pale and very skinny.

"Any complications?"

"None. He's definitely going to make it now."

"What about the leg?" I look down to the shape under the sheets. "Will he be able to use it as before?"

"Why do you care, Isis?" Hikahi narrows his eyes in suspicion. "Kurtz was hell-bend on saving him in one piece, even though it caused a lot more complications. Don't tell me he did it because he's such a humanitarian!"

"Again, ask _him_, not me." Time's ticking away, and we're still standing here, discussing. I'm in the middle of repeating my request to the two, in the middle of making it an order, when – I notice a slight movement from the soldier. He's stirring, hardly perceivable.

"Well," Hikahi sighs, "congratulations - you did it. You woke him."

"Grand." The man's breathing rhythm has changed from slow deep breaths to an irregular pattern. He turns his head a bit, hands flexing involuntarily, one slowly crawling up to his neck and touching the gauze there. A soft, barely audible moan escapes him.

"Corporal? Corporal Hicks?" I say. Hikahi groans.

"Damn, Isis, this man's just beaten death. He's going to be very confused and miserable. You could at least address him without this military bullshit."

I don't look at him.

"This 'military bullshit' is what he's been living by, Doctor. Also, what did you expect? After all, I'm just a machine!" He's mumbling something behind my back, but I don't care any longer. The soldier's eyelids are fluttering, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of green, an expression of profound exhaustion and confusion – and then he jerks back when he sees my face. There's not an ounce of strength left in his body, but the intention to get away from me is clear. Wonderful – he's afraid of me. From the corners of my eyes I notice Keisha's sour smile.

"Get… away from me…" It's hardly a whisper.

"You're scaring him, Isis. Why don't you let him be for now?"

"I'm scaring him? That's -"

"Ridiculous? Have you looked into a mirror lately?" That stupid bitch Keisha's actually laughing at that! Hikahi steps up to my side. "Look, he's disoriented and miserable and drugged out of his scull! Everybody would freak if he woke up and saw a horror-mask hovering over himself! He probably-"

_'Horror-mask?! '_

"-thinks you're Death! This tattoo-"

Okay, it's about time I really switch to 'machine-mode', or I will decapitate this arrogant prick! Time for the infamous 'Master of Ignorance' to show her stuff! Ever cursed at a computer? It doesn't help you!

"How do you feel, Corporal?" He blinks, and I'm not sure for a second whether he actually understands me. But he's United States citizen, is he not? He should speak English... and he already did. Those few words a second before.

"Neck…hurts…" It's a raspy whisper, and it's immediately making him cough. Grimacing, he closes his eyes again. I look up to Keisha.

"Why don't you give him something?"

"It's already in there." She points at the drip and casts me a dirty look, letting me know that she would like to say more, but doesn't because she knows she's not in a position to. "His circulation is still weak. We can't give him more."

_'And you guys say __**I'm**__ torturing him!'_ I shift my attention back to the soldier who seems to be in danger of dozing off again. "You're safe here. Don't worry… What happened?" I hear Hikahi groan behind me. But I need to know: The Sulaco's record went only so far. What happened after it – presumably - crashed is still a mystery.

"…am… I?" His voice trails off. He manages to open his eyes for another two seconds. I'm impressed. He's hardly seen anything, yet he already knows he's not home.

"You're on Phooka Station. You're safe." Something tells me to take his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. Must be one of Rogue's superfluous programming details. Something about body contact as a means of building trust. Whatever… as long as it works. Another glimpse of green.

"Foo… Fooka…?" I see some lines forming on his forehead, but before I can say anything, he forces his eyelids open again, and I'm surprised to see the drowsy expression gone. His fingers clasp mine in a tight grip.

"Newt…?"

"What?" His throat's moving, but I don't hear anything. "Noot?" I throw in questioningly.

"…girl?" He stares at me for another moment, and I get the impression it's important to him.

"The girl?" I turn around to Hikahi, who's slowly shaking his head no. "She didn't make it."

"Damn, Isis, I want you gone. NOW!"

_'Don't you understand it yet, Doctor? What you want is not important!'_ The soldier's still staring at me as if he's having trouble understanding my words. But his fingers let go, and I take my hand back. Finally, I see something like dull realization seeping into his questioning glance. The hard stare's getting hazy again, and I don't know whether it's his failing strength or sorrow that's slackening his body. He's practically deflating in front of me, slowly exhaling…eyes shut tight in obvious pain. I can't tell whether it's bodily or-

Someone yanks me around.

"I don't care who you are or what your boss wants, Isis! You're leaving this room NOW, understood?" Hikahi's mad like I've never seen him before. He shoves me towards the door. I ram my heels into the ground.

"He wanted to _KNOW_!"

"He wasn't ready for it yet!"

"You shook your head when I asked you!"

"To _NOT_ tell him! To give him an evasive answer! Damn, Isis, you don't understand _ANYTHING _about humans!"

Somehow I manage to turn around against his fierce grip on my shoulders and face him.

"If I understand one thing, Doctor, it's that we would see it if he were upset!" I point at the instruments where the soldier's heartbeat and blood pressure are still looking reasonably low.

"That's because he's STONED, Isis! Heavily sedated! He's not capable of showing a normal reaction yet! But thanks to you, he's got something to mull over in his dreams now! You've effectively sabotaged my work of three weeks here with your stupidity, but before you'll do anymore damage, I'll remove you myself if I have to."

He really means it. Rogue help me, he's serious for the first time since I've known him! For the first time, the wimpy, skinny, middle-aged man doesn't back down. I would surely be able to appreciate the occasion if his rage weren't directed at me. Still, I've seen enough to know he's right. The Corporal's not going to talk any further tonight. I stop struggling and raise my hands.

"You don't have to, Doctor. I'm going anyway. See? No need to get all hectic and hostile." He still glares at me, and from behind I see the girl's satisfied expression. Man, it must be a field day for her! But I can't go like this – I must at least claim back some authority here! I stare at Hikahi. "But you're going to call me the minute he wakes up and is clear again. Or whenever anything unsuspected happens. You got that?"

"Go, Isis!"

"Did I make myself clear?"

"I'm neither stupid nor deaf. And since I don't think you are, you' re going to keep your end of the deal now." A nod into the general direction of the door. I straighten my jumpsuit he messed up and depart through the opening door without haste, feeling two pairs of hostile eyes on my back. I got what I wanted. Now all I want is some bloody rest, okay?

* * *

[_"She didn't make it… she didn't make it… didn't make it… didn't…"]_

The words bounce around in Hicks' head. To the left side of his brain… back … to the front… back… He's chewing on them, grasping for their meaning even though they're nothing more than a swarm of slivery, slippery fish, darting apart whenever he's sticking a hand into the water to catch them. It must be something bad. Must be, because… he can't feel her weight against his arm anymore. He's hardly able to move it, but he's already noticed the difference. No tiny, living, breathing body huddled against his side, keeping him a little warmer. And his keeping her warm.

_["…didn't… make it. Didn't…"]_

A bright light is blinding him, and his mind's making the immediate connection: The radiant blue-white glow of the descending dropship, the gale-force wind's howling mixing with the powerful roar of its twin turbines as it's making its way towards them. A notion of pure, utter joy at the vehicles sight, even though he is already to weak to move... to get up, or at least sit. The overwhelming desire to let her know that help has finally arrived… against all hope.

"Newt…"

"DwayNe, do you hear me? Dwayne?"

There's a face in the sky now, in fact, the sky's becoming the face, the clouds moving to form a full mouth, a noses… eyes... For a moment the bizarre double image continues to confuse him. The face gets clearer. It belongs to someone young, female. It's dark. Huge eyes watch him. What the fuck is this? Death again? Back to claim him after all?

"Leave me alone…" he manages to croak against the splitting pain in his sand-dry throat. Again pressure against his hand. A feeble attempt of wrenching it free, to no avail. "Let… go…"

"Don't fight, Dwayne… you're safe. Just go back to sleep. No need to worry… everything's going to be okay…"

God, he's feeling like lead again. The sliver fish are swimming in circles before his eyes, making him lose his sense of orientation. But those words… those terrible words… He tilts his head to the left, looking down at this side… she's not there. Nothing but the wet, cold steel of the atmosphere processor… and the omnipresent roaring of the storm in his ears_._

_["… didn't … make it?!"]_

A blood-streaked face appears in his line of vision… Ripley's.

_["…didn't… make it…!"]_

Hudson, his eyes huge, despair and regret written all over them. A finger-big hole in his right temple... blood spurting through the air onto Hicks's face... Vasquez, yelling in pain...

He groans in agony, the enormity of the three words comes to him in pulses… like waves… each one mightier than the one before. It's beginning to sink in.

"… all… dead…"

"Shhhhhh… don't think about it now. You're tired. Just go back to sleep…"

Somebody touches his forehead, but he doesn't even notice. It's the Acheron-scenario all over again. The dropship has landed, its dark silhouette barely visible in the blinding white cloud of dust and rain it landed in. The bottom ramp opens to let out four shapes in likewise white suits, oddly looking like old spacesuits he saw in history books back at school over a decade ago. Well,… not entirely… There's definitely something very futuristic about them, too, as they close the distance at a slow pace, bent forward to fight against the raging storm. He watches their approach with a sudden sense of dread. He knows those uniforms. He doesn't need to see the labels printed onto the left arm. They're Weyland Yutani elite-forces. Fear replaces the initial joy over having been found. 'Burke's people… they're Burke's people!" He wants to run away, to get up and get the hell out of here, because what's coming towards him can't be good, can only be... the fish dart apart once and for all... there's no catching them this time. They're already over the horizon. Following those black waves... like him.

"Ssssshhh... "

"Keisha...?"

"He was getting too restless. I gave him one additional cc of..."

* * *

**Hadley's Hope - Day 2 - 2100 hours**

„I know I have failed your team, and I fully recognize it must be impossible now for you and your squad to further trust me with this command… I'm therefore resigning from it and putting you in charge, effective this second."

Gorman's words, incredible enough. Hicks has to give the man credit as he passes the parting doors of MedLab on his way back to Operations. The Lieutenant is not someone who's laying the blame on someone who's not in a position to defend himself like most of his rank would do. It takes courage to admit one's failures, and he'll see to it that neither Vasquez nor Hudson will give him a hard time for messing up in C-level. Truth be told, Hicks doesn't even think it was Gorman's fault at all. He doesn't think someone else, someone with more experience, would have been able to get them out of there in one piece either. Apone had been the man in charge down there, and during the long years their squad has been together, they had been through hell more than a couple of times… and came out of it unscathed, all working together, hand in hand, with the Master Sergeant and himself as their leaders… without some arrogant officer fresh out of War Academy at New Brisbane having to tell them each step.

Fact is, the disaster would have happened even if the man on the other end of the line had been the almighty General Shaw, head of the Gateway regiment himself. It's an uncomfortable thought, probably worse than if it really had been Gorman's fault. It means their situation is worse than anything they had to deal with before. It means they've found their match here - an enemy who has the capacity to potentially destroy them… the worst way possible. Well, they've made this choice, right? They could have gone out nice and clean in a big white mushroom cloud. No pain, no nothing. They would have been here one second, and vaporised the next if they'd chosen to let the atmosphere processor do its thing. It had been set for destruction, probably caught a burst of Vasquez' or Drake's heavy fire back there. If it hadn't been for Bishop, who accidentally stumbled over the insane readouts while checking on Hadley's operational systems, they'd have it behind them now… Just one hour later, and it would have been impossible to shut the reactor down. Still, it had taken an enormously courageous act by Bishop, Hudson and Vasquez, who had to get out there and do it manually, as the hardware between the station and the processor had been likewise smashed. He has to give Hudson credit. He honestly wouldn't have thought the ComTech would even set one foot outside their heavily guarded defense-grid. It had probably been Vasquez' 'You chickenshit!'-look that had made the Private reconsider backing down from his duty. This and the prospects of having the female smart-gunner watching their backs out there. Hicks smirks, a little reluctantly. Seems there's still some fighting spirit left in the remains of this outfit. Maybe even enough to make it until help arrives…

He inhales deeply, not really wanting to step into Operations again and tell the others about the Lieutenant's ruling: He's not happy with it, is anything but looking forward to his first real command, but it's the only way to maintain at least half of a chance of making it. Gorman's right. Let's experience have the final word. From where he's standing in the corridor connecting MedLab with Operations, he can hear a mishmash of different voices, the flurry of activity. They're still getting settled. Whatever food they've been able to find has been stored into a corner, mattresses and blankets been laid into the edges of the room further to the back, and the inventory of everything they're having at their hands is still underway. 16 days to go… are they going to make it? Hicks can't help thinking of the sight of the torn barricades – the colonists' last stand – they had come across the eternity of 26 hours ago. Hadley's former inhabitants didn't have anything to guard them with, no heavy weaponry like them to keep the monsters from tearing their improvised barricades apart. They – on the other hand - had the four robot sentries protecting them, but after that first attack there are only 10 more rounds of ammunition – about 3 more seconds of firepower – left in the one closest to them… all others are empty. Useless. How can this be enough? The bastards retreated for now, but when will they come back? Will they come back… and what should they do then?

No use in asking himself theoretical questions, he recognises. Also no use in delaying the inevitable. Pulling himself together, he steps into Operations… and immediately sees the heads turning his way. It's everybody's guess why Gorman summoned him to MedLab, and they need to hear it now. Ripley, who's entering the room from the other side followed by Newtstops dead in her tracks as does Burke, another load of vacuum-packed rations in his arms. Hudson who's sitting at the instrument board checking on the monitors and checking the frequencies for potential help, Vasquez at his right side… with the exception of Bishop and Gorman who are still in MedLab everybody's waiting for the one sentence.

"Did he…?" It's Burke who asks. Of course. He is not part of the team. His team knows he knows the one question on their mind. He shifts his gaze toward the company representative.

"Yes, he did." They are the only words he utters, but there is a very distinct message he's exchanging with the man by simple eye-contact_. 'I may be just a lowly grunt, but I've got the saying_ _here. Don't get in my way.'_ From the corners of his eyes he can see the relieve on Vasquez' and Hudson's faces.

"How's the Lieutenant?" Ripley's voice, breaking the spell.

"Got a headache, but he's coherent… probably a slight concussion, but nothing serious. I told him to get some more rest. There's nothing he can do here right now anyway." He can virtually hear Vasquez' thinking 'Too bad' and decides to change the topic before she can voice it and he'd have to stop her. It would be bad for the general mood. So instead he steps over to Hudson to ask: "Did you pick up anything?… Anything at all?"

"Nothin'." The frustration on the ComTech's face is answer enough even without his words. "Not one fucking signal. We're all alone in this quadrant." He sees Hicks' expression and adds: "But I'm still trying. There may be some private ships around. Sometimes they don't use the standard frequencies, so… that's still a possibility."

"Good." He knocks on the board, the gesture acknowledging Hudsons' display of false optimism and telling him that Hicks is appreciating his effort to improve the general mood. Turning around, he eyes the pile food they've gathered in a collaborative effort. By the looks of it, they at least shouldn't have to starve... He nods to himself, suppressing a yawn. Man, it's late. He's been up for – what – almost 40 hours now straight? Time to fill up his reserves, or he'll start hallucinating, probably seeing aliens everywhere. Apart from Bishop, he's probably the only one who didn't get the chance to catch some shut-eye until now. Bishop of course doesn't need to, but he... Geez, he's feeling a million years old right now. And he doesn't have to see Ripley's concerned gaze to know it's showing. Alright then... He pulls himself together for a good-natured smile. "Okay, people, you know the schedule, right?" They nod. Hudson's not even taking his eyes from the monitors to answer him.

"Don't worry, Hicks. We'll kick your sorry ass out of Neverland at 08.00 sharp."

"Or whenever-"

"-something important's happening. Hell yeah, we got it, Boss!" The ComTech gives him a quick glance over his shoulder. Reassuring. "Hey, you can count on us. You know that."

The Corporal's smile broadens. It's good to see Hudson back on track. For a while he actually had been worried... but now he's feeling this special thing again: The tight connection between them. The feeling of mutual trust. The knowledge that each of them will be there to cover the other's back. They're a tightly-knit bunch again, and neither hell nor aliens will come between them. It's a good feeling.

"Yeah... I know, Will." He gives his team mate a small, thankful nod, extending it toward Vasquez... and Ripley. "We'll get through this. I know we will." He shoves himself off the instrument board he's been leaning on and makes for the far end of Operations where the mattresses mark their impromptu camp.

* * *

"See?… it's moving! He must still be alive! Fucking hell – Vasquez! Look!"

Silence, then footsteps. Tentative.

"Mierda…!"

The noise of static, boosted to top volume. Mixed with another noise, something he can't put his finger on, still painfully familiar. Disturbing. He roles onto his other site in an attempt to shake off the ghost of the dream.

"Fuck me…" Unmistakably Hudson again, but sounding somewhat disturbed. "That's his breathing! You hearing that? There!"

Hicks groans and rolls on his back, opening his eyes to make the nightmare disappear. A long moment of disorientation passes, before the panelling over him and the sound of the others sleeping in his surroundings tells him where he is. Ah… finally silence. He can't tell what it had been that bothered him in his sleep. Maybe the feeling of realism. The sense of not actually dreaming but listening in on an actual conversation… He turns his head towards the cool blue glow of the monitors further back.

"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?"

"Hudson – I don't know if-"

"What you wanna do, ignore him?"

Damn, it's not a dream after all! He can still hear his two team members whispering intensively, and they sound… strange. And who the fuck are they talking to? He sits up, and the dull throbbing behind his eyes returns. Rubbing the bridge of his nose between his eyes he gets up, still not feeling fully awake, although a quick glance onto his chronometer tells him it's been not even an hour since he lay down, and he's sure he didn't really fall asleep. As he's carefully stepping around the other bodies which are strewn across the floor in the back of Operations – for some odd reason nobody wanted to sleep in the room with the two occupied stasis tubes – he notices a slight movement to his right. Ripley. Her eyes are open, an expression of drowsy alarm in them. He holds up his hand, telling her to stay calm. The shadow of a smile crosses his face for a moment as he sees little Newt huddled against her adult protector. She's still asleep, but not looking peaceful. Small wonder, really.

"Sir, if you can hear me -"

"He can't hear you, Hudson! He's-"

Hicks rounds the corner.

"What's going on? Who are you two talking to?"

They both jump at the unexpected intrusion, having been fully caught up in whatever's keeping their attention. There's excitement in their eyes. Excitement and… horror. Hicks tilts his head slightly to see what they are looking at. The corridors from the sentries' cameras and some more of the station's surveillance equipment… and what is this? He strains his eyes in an attempt to make sense of the black and white pattern on another monitor.

"Hicks, I found the Sarge! He's still alive! Look!" Hudson points at the image he's still trying to decipher. "His headset's still intact – you can even hear him breathe!"

That noise…! The sudden sensation of falling down a bottomless elevator shaft turns Hicks' stomach upside down. His blood freezes, and he can feel the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rising with all distinctness.

"God…" His legs turn to rubber, and he has to grab the edges of the console to steady himself, his eyes staring transfixed at the psychedelic pattern of biomechanical architecture… which shifts as the camera delivering the images is slightly turned to the right and then down onto an object that's awfully familiar-looking. An opened egg…

"What's this?" Vasquez indicates a thin green line that's running parallel to the Sergeant's visible lifesigns. "A malfunction?"

Hicks feels the sour taste of bile at the back of his throat rising. He doesn't know what will come if he opens his mouth now, words or-

"He's infected…it's…it's its heartbeat…" he says numbly, feeling unreal. This must be a dream! A nightmare – no, the mother of all nightmares! And as he's standing there, thinking it can't possibly get any worse, the horror performs a quantum leap into another dimension.

"Anybody…? Can… can you hear me?" Apone's voice… sounding hurt… horrified beyond belief… desperate… "Plea… please? Anybody?" Violent coughing cuts off the words, and the grainy image shakes as the source of the transmission doubles over, wrecked by spasms.

"Sir, we're copying! Sarge? Do you hear me?" After an initial fit of panic Hudson had calmed down and dealt with the situation quite efficiently over the past hours, but it can't be overheard that the panic's back now – with a vengeance.

"Sir, tell us where you are! We'll come and get you out!" Vasquez, angry and determined. The ComTech covers the mike with his palm, eyes wide.

"Are you fucking crazy, Vaz? We can't-"

"-se! If anybody hears this… don't come down here." Coughing again.

"He doesn't hear us." Hicks feels bodily sick. It's painful to hear his long-time team leader like this: horrified beyond belief and all hope long departed. And still, in these long last hours of his life, who is Apone thinking of? Them. His team. Everybody else would beg for a – however hopeless appearing – rescue attempt. Not Apone. He'd never ask anybody to risk his life for him. A mixture of great grief and rage fills up Hicks' mind. It's unfair! Why the sergeant? For once there is a team leader who cares for his squad, who's always taking the safer, smarter way to get things done because he refuses to throw away even one single human life… and then he buys it the ugliest way while all the others who're giving a shit about their 'grunts' are sitting pretty? ""Get… get your asses out of the sling while… while you still can. Hicks?"

The mention of his name is a punch to the gut, and he groans in torment without even realising.. Somewhere on a subconscious level he knows Hudson and Vasquez are looking at him, but he just can't take his eyes off the monitor.

"Hicks –" Hudson's trying to hand him over the mike. He ignores him.

"Hicks, if you hear this… don't … don't do anything stupid. Get them out as fast as… aw, fuck…!" Violent coughing wrecks Apone again, and this time there's a great deal of pain audible in it. It's more than Hicks can bear, more than any of them should be forced to hear.

"Hicks, here…"

"Switch it off..." He's not looking at the ComTech, can't believe his own hollow-sounding voice. What did he just say?

"What?!"

"Aww… hell… it's moving…" Heavy, painful breathing comes over the speakers.

"You don't mean-"

"Switch it off, Hudson!" It takes superhuman effort to turn his head and meet his stunned comrades' unbelieving looks. "Now."

"Dammit Hicks, we can't just leave him alone! We've got to-"

"Do something about it?" Now he's breathing hard himself. Feels as if he's going to lose the ration he's had earlier this evening any second now. His voices sounds raspy, and he has to literally force himself to continue "We can't. We've already been over this, Will… and he doesn't want us to. He's right. They would rip us to pieces – like before." He shakes his head to himself in an attempt to shake off the awful images suddenly flooding his mind. Apone… going into spasms… screaming as an eyeless creature bursts from his chest in a fountain of blood… His eyes are trying to find the monitor again, but he can't stand the images now, doesn't want to watch – abruptly, he turns his back on the instrument board. His voice is but a whisper. Firm and compassionate at the same time. He's not going to make this an order. "We'll need to keep a cool head to come out of this in one piece… Watching him –" he fights with the word "-die… won't help us. And it won't help him. He doesn't even know we're grounded. Might be better for him to think we've made it…"

"He's right." A new voice joins the discussion. Ripley. He looks up to see her standing there at the corner, her gaze fixated on him, understanding in her eyes… and something else. Guilt? Is she blaming herself for this mess? "Even if it were possible to get him out – which it's not – you… couldn't do anything about … his condition…"

"But maybe Bishop could… you know… perform an emergency operation on him. Maybe…" Hudson runs dry, his tone an indication that he's not believing his own words. They sound desperate, clinging on to hope against better knowledge. Hicks doesn't intervene. He knows his team mate good enough to know that Hudson needs to say it out loud to sort things out for himself. The ComTech's not stupid. He locks eyes with Vasquez and sees consent in the black eyes. Regret, pain… and consent.

"Man…" The ultra-tough smartgun-operator gives him the hint of a nod. He can virtually hear her unspoken thoughts – 'What a fucking mess…!'

"Hudson…?" Wordless communication. His comrade's finger hovers over the switch that will cut them off from their leader… once and for all. It's hard… so hard… a deep breath. The image of the monitor shakes again – then goes black. Silence follows, weighing them all down. Nobody speaks.

Hicks closes his eyes as pain and grief threaten to overwhelm him. How long has he been serving with Apone? Ten years? Longer than anybody else. He's been there in his squad right from the start. From the time on where the Master Sergeant had been just a lowly corporal… like himself. Always fair. Always just. A leader he had always looked up to… and now it's his time to find out whether he'll be able to step into the big man's shoes. He's been thrown into the cold water, just like Gorman. Will he be able to swim? Or will he drown, taking them all with him?Gorman drowned over there at the processing station, and now he's holding on to him for survival… they all are. The knowledge is like a big rock tied to his foot, threatening to pull him down.

"I'm sorry, Hicks…" Ripley's voice. As he reopens his eyes, he sees her apologetic look – as if it were really her fault they're in the pits now. _Her_ idea to come here. Or _her_ creatures. He turns his back on her brusquely, trying to shake the sudden burst of anger he's feeling… to sort out his feelings - and sees Burke sitting on his mattress, woken by the hoopla they are making here… meeting his stare with drowsy alarm. A red-hot flash of rage comes over him. _'If it's anybody's fault, it's the company's_! _Human sleazebags' like Burke!_ _Sending us out with a rookie lieutenant… They didn't listen to Ripley at all! Those arrogant, greedy pricks…!' _There's a furious sparkle in his narrowed eyes as he continues to stare at the confused company rep.

"It's okay," His voice – amazingly enough – is still calm, albeit bitter with cynicism. "We already knew what happened to him, right?" The urge to close the gap and hammer the company rep right through the wall for what he did here is almost irresistible now. He, the most cool-headed of them all, is in the middle of losing it, and if he's going to let it happen there's no telling when he will stop… whether he will be able to stop at all… and what it will do to everybody's state of mind… It takes a HUGE effort not to follow his instincts! He turns around, suddenly hardly able to breathe. Burke will never know how close he came to being smashed to a pulp. They're all staring at him, probably waiting for some encouraging or comforting words, hardly ready for the hard look he's giving them. Hicks inhales sharply in an attempt to swallow his sudden burst of anger. He can't give it to them right now. Right now, he's feeling anything but reasonable, or sensible, or fucking optimistic even! If anything, he's feeling the overwhelming desire to be alone. "I'll be in Medlab, in case anyone needs me." MedLab's big. There should be a way of finding a quiet place for himself there despite Gorman's and Bishop's presence. He stomps off without looking back.

* * *

„Man, I don't like this," Skin's complaining while we're strutting through Level 3, the one above the aquatic domain of Mac the Knife, closing all hatches along the way which don't lead towards the underwater laboratory 4. A huge dark shape passes under our feet with calm dignity, leaving us further behind with each move of its big tail-fin. The tiger shark doesn't react to us even though it must be hungry after an enforced diet of two days. Of course. Despite the transparent floor he can't see us. My ever-reliable database tells me that sharks usually hunt by scent and tactile input. Eye-sight is not important to them – so Mac's either ignoring us or doesn't even know we're here. He himself would be hard to ignore His massive shape is very impressive. It's one thing to read about a 14-foot killing machine… and yet an entirely different thing to actually see it. I can't help but feel curious about Darwin's little experiment tonight. Skin's opinion is of course different. "How can you simply waste such a perfect creature?"

I shrug.

"She said she'd build you a new one. So why the fuss?" He shakes his head furiously, making his little samurai ponytail move.

"Damn Isis, we're talking about a living creature here – not some…technical gadget!"

"Yeah, okay. If you want to get all sentimental…" I roll my eyes. "So what? He's a clone, and the new one will be done from the same DNA. It's going to be the _exact_ same stupid fish!"

"It won't be Mac," he refuses stubbornly, his gaze fixated on the disappearing shark's silhouette. I sigh. How can anybody be so illogical?

"Skin, you know the sole reason for the existence of this little pet zoo of yours is-"

"-to ensure a never-ending supply of guinea-pigs," he sighs, pressing the next button. We see the door beneath us slide shut. Slowly but surely we're getting Mac where Darwin wants him. "Yeah, I know that. But why does she have to take him when there are so many alternatives? Just feed them this crazy ape, or –"

"The ape?" I sigh inwardly. "Forgive me for asking, but how do you think would this help us in determining how adaptable Xenomorphis Terribilis is to water?"

He glares at me.

"Don't be snide, Isis. I don't see why she can't simply throw the thing into another part of the basin. We'd be able to see whether it can swim – why does she want it to be attacked?"

"Cause she wants to see _how_ good it can swim," I reply evenly, rounding the corner behind him. "Two answers with one test."

"But he'll die!" My colleague looks down onto his acid-scarred hand uncomfortably. "His head will corrode when he's taking a bite off it!"

"Yeah..." I admit in mock compassion. "That's why we'll all be wearing black tonight, too. I forgot to say."

"Man!" he groans, closing the last hatch. His pet is now captured in an aquarium of approximately 30 x 30 metres. To our left side is the stairway that leads down to Lab 4's operating room, where we're going to sit tonight to watch the spectacle of alien vs. the most efficient predator Earth has to offer. Darwin was adamant to perform this test before the great meeting with Weyland Yutani's brass tomorrow. "I forgot how much fun working with you is."

"Well, I'm sorry Kira's sick and I've got to be her replacement. I know how close you two are." He glares at me, and I decide to shut up before the situation escalates. After all, I'm having a full schedule for today and need to hurry to get everything done. Rosselli and Vox, two of W.Y.'s top representatives, will arrive within the next two hours, and I'm the one responsible for preparing their lush executives' suites. Plus another check on our valuable marine… and the portable stasis beam for tonight. This before everything else. We're going to have a massive catastrophe on our hands if the gadget doesn't work…

We've reached the end of the staircase and step into Lab 4's control room, facing the massive console and the huge panoramic window of indestructible security glass behind it. Mac's gigantic form passes right in front of us, calmly making his way to the left side of the basin. The water's breaking the light from above and creates interesting visual effects in the observing room where we are standing. Everything's looking good. It's tidy, the vending machines on the left corner of the entrance is operational and just delivering a cappuccino upon Skin's demand. With a sigh, I step forward, eyeing the hundreds of switches, scales and counters on the console. They light up like a Christmas tree as I'm hitting the main switch. Time for a thorough systems check. I've granted us exactly one hour for it. Time to get moving.

* * *

The first thing he notices is that smell… that horrible, antiseptic smell… it's different from the metallic tasting rain with its underlying aroma of burnt ashes. Not really better... but it's clean... almost too clean.

"Just get it done, Keisha, okay? I'm sick and tired of listening to your constant griping!" A female voice of undeterminable age. Not very old, though.

"But why-" He knows this one, has heard it before. In his… dreams?

"No 'buts', remember? Just do it!"

Silence. Followed by the muffled sound of footsteps and the familiar hiss of a door opening and closing. More footsteps, passing in front of him, getting further away, the young female voice he recognizes by now mumbling something unintelligible. The most immediate source of noise is coming from straight above him now, a constant symphony of clicking and beeping and humming. Hicks forces his eyes open and finds it a little less impossible to do than before.

The place is white, but not blinding white. The light's been toned down to a pleasant twilight that's easy on his eye-nerves. Definitely _not_ Operations anymore… or the tunnel. He feels a bit confused. The images which reach his brain are somewhat blurry and hesitate to stumble into focus, no matter how hard he's trying for it. The ceiling he's looking at doesn't tell him anything, and so he turns his head sideways on the cushion, searching for some kind of clue about his whereabouts – and winces at the stab of pain in the back of his neck. Unconsciously his left hand climbs up again to touch the gauze pensively. What the – He pauses as he sees his arm… _really_ sees it. It's skinny. Nothing but flesh and bones… and an IV-line leading up from the vein on his wrist to a drip at his bedside with multiple thin plastic bags.

He stares a while longer, the meaning of what he's seeing slowly seeping into his clouded conscience like thick syrup. Hospital… he's in some kind of hospital. Looks as if they got him good this time. Really good. By the looks of it, he's half a skeleton already… and came close to wearing one of those black body bags they've always been making their morbid jokes about in order to avoid actually having to think about death. More memories come. Body bags… yes… He's the only one who made it, right? Hudson, Vasquez… Apone…Ripley… they're all dead. His mood goes belly-up with the jolt of sudden realization. Everybody's dead – except him … and the girl? There's something about her, something he should remember, too, right? Was it just a dream? That bizarre black & white face staring down on him, telling him –

[_"She … didn't … make… it…"]_

A sudden sense of urgency makes him prop his hands against the mattress and push himself to a sitting position – to his surprise he doesn't even make it halfway before he falls back, gasping. Exhausted.

_('What the hell is wrong with me?')_

"Hey – we've finally decided to wake up, huh?" a familiar female voice reaches him, sounding honestly happy. Hicks turns his head in the direction of the approaching footsteps and sees a young nurse heading his way, white teeth shining in an encouraging smile on her dark face. Young? She looks like a teenager! 16, or 17 maybe. Her shoulder-long hair is neatly bound into dozens of tiny braids, which again are pulled back to form a ponytail of braids on her neck. Putting the small pile of towels she's been carrying on a nearby table, she steps up to him, and he notices a slight limp on her. The name tag on her green frock reads 'Keisha'. "How are you today, Dwayne? You look like you're feeling much better."

"Yeah?" Man, what a strange feeling to use his tongue again. And the connection between his brain and throat seems to experience substantial problems, too. "Don't know…" His throat is dry like the desert.

_'I feel like shit!'_ he wants to say. '_I feel like an APC ran over me!'_ he wants to say. But he can't even summon up the words in his mind, let alone utter them. And this damn throbbing in his neck… he can't remember hurting his neck. How? When?

"How am I?" A strange question, he realizes as soon as he's uttered it. But she appears to understand, as she sits down on the edge of his bed after a short glance to his bio-readouts. A somber, serious look replaces the relived smile she had displayed until now.

"Well… you're obviously on the way to recovery now. But it was pretty close." Her hand moves as if to touch his in a reassuring gesture, but is drawn back at the last moment. "Do you remember anything?"

"How's the girl?" he inquires instead, somehow answering her question by that. "Where is she?" Her expression becomes strange… guarded, somehow.

"I don't know, Dwayne. I'll have to ask Dr. Hikahi, but he won't be – what?"

"You _do_ know," he states quietly, sinking back into his cushion. "Tell me. Please."

"Dwayne-"

"Please." His gaze is urgent, his eyes pinning her. He's sniffing the truth, and she sees it. The young woman inhales deeply, feeling extremely uneasy all of a sudden. "She's dead, isn't she?" He sees the answer in her eyes even though she's still hesitant about telling him. A sinking feeling overwhelms him, robs him of the last of his strength. His head seems to weigh a ton all of a sudden. Brown eyes muster him compassionately.

"I'm sorry, Dwayne." She is almost whispering now. "She was already dead when they brought you both here." She swallows, seeing the sorrow in his eyes and feeling awful. He doesn't appear to be surprised though. It's almost as if he already knew… but then again, he'd been too drugged yesterday. Impossible he could remember anything Isis told him, right? "You almost died yourself," she adds in a futile attempt to explain the logic of the tragedy to him. "And you are a strong, trained soldier. She-" She stops when she sees his weak, hopeless shadow of a smile.

"Not anymore." He casts his gaze down and shivers again at the sight of his thin arms. Something else finds the way from his memory into his consciousness. His leg. What about his leg? There are the shapes of two legs under the blanket, but after his long-time military career he knows well enough how the docs sometimes place cushions under them to diminish the shock for freshly amputated patients. Strangely enough though, he doesn't care. So what if he has only one leg left? Everybody else is dead. His squad – which was more like his family. Ripley…he sighs, not seeing Keisha anymore. He killed her himself. He remembers it now. Sees her blood-streaked face in front of his inner eye. Hears her desperate plea.

[_"Please – kill me. Remember your promise."]_

Man, no more… please! He squeezes his eyes shut in a vain attempt to make the image go away. The thunder of his 38mm_… NO MORE!_

_["Will they come for us?"]_

He's succeeded in making Ripley go away… but now it's Newt's voice in his ears, and he almost feels her weight against his side again. Feels her little body huddled against him to find some protection from the raging storm and driving rain, longing for some warmth. For how long? One week? Longer? It felt like an eternity, and she had been sleeping the sleep of death already long before the bright light came down from the stars to get them. On some unconscious level, he knew it even then. Seeing his own condition rapidly deteriorate in the elements and radiation, with no more food to sustain them and being forced to drink the contaminated water raining down on them, he had known their days were counted.

"-she your daughter?" his caretaker's voice snaps him out of his dark thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Was she your daughter?" He can see she's a little embarrassed to ask him, probably feeling her question is stupid or intruding or whatever… but also, she appears to genuinely care. He looks at her… or rather, through her, seeing the girl's dirt-smeared face, hearing her voice echo in the narrow black tunnel where she found him.

_["HicksHicksHicks! Do you hear me? Do you hear me?"]_

He swallows bitterly.

"No…" The realization of what has happened is slowly beginning to dawn on him. A feeling as if he'd swallowed a huge block of ice...while being simultaneously being hit over the head with a baseball bat. The result is cold numbness. "She saved my life." His eyes eventually find back to the teenager, noticing the surprised expression on her features. He licks his dry lips, but to no avail – his mouth and throat are like a dried-up well, too. Thirsty, yes... he's thirsty. And again, he doesn't care. Inhaling deeply, he adds: "And I promised to take care of her... and to get her out of there...alive. Dammit..."

Suddenly weakness and desperation come back with a vengeance as he covers his burning eyes with his hand, squeezing them shut. He leaves it there, not wanting the young woman to see his pain. What kind of God takes the life of an innocent child and saves the one of a soldier with more blood on his hands than most people in colonized space? What kind of a fucked-up universe is this?

"I'm sorry, Dwayne..." Keisha whispers, feeling awful. "I'm so sorry." The desire to reach out and take his hand for comfort is almost unbearable now... but again she can't summon up the courage. He's a grown man, for Christ's sake! A soldier! More than likely ten, twelve years older than her! What would he think? So her hands stay in her lap, clutching the fabric of her nurses' frock helplessly. But there must be something she can do for him, right? "Would you like to talk about it?"

Hicks hears her tentative voice from the foot-end of his bed. Why is she still here? Doesn't she understand he wants to be alone now? Why did they save _him_ and not Newt? Or since she was already dead like everybody else of his squad – why did they have to bring him back? There's nothing left here for him. He's all alone now. All alone in the middle of a huge black hole he shouldn't have climbed out of. "Dwayne?"

"No. Just leave me alone." His voice is toneless and flat, his eyes still shut, left hand covering his face. He doesn't move. "Please."

There _must_ be something she can do.

"Can I get you anything? I can't give you anything to drink unfortunately, because your stomach's not yet ready for it, but I could –"

"Just leave." More determined now. Impatient and almost angry.

She swallows, feeling awful. She wasn't supposed to tell him, and she didn't want to – _BUT HE ASKED_! What was she supposed to do? It was so important to him, he didn't even ask all the questions she was ready for! Like where he was… or what about his leg? He didn't want to know. Like he doesn't care at all! As if he's not even happy to be still alive… She inhales deeply, desperately wanting to say something meaningful, something that would make him feel better… but she doesn't even know him. She doesn't know what happened to him, or what he's been through, or what's important to him besides the girl. So she finally stands up, silent, looking down on him insecurely. He doesn't seem to register. A final glance at the bottles on the drip. He's still set. No need to exchange any of them. For a moment she toys with the idea of maybe injecting a little extra sedative into the IV-line to help him to a deep, dreamless sleep… but he's got to start dealing with it. There's no use in delaying the inevitable.

"I'm sorry, Dwayne," she repeats, putting the remote with the call-button next to his right hand on the blanket. "If you change your mind or need anything, just call me, okay? Here." There's no reaction. The young Arcturian picks up the towels she left on the table and makes for the door, feeling bitter, not even hearing the hissing mechanism as she passes. Walking down the deserted corridor, her steps echoing hollowly, she can't help but brood over her dark thoughts. This is not what she wanted to do. When she left her planet two years ago together with Hikahi, she had hoped to do something good, to help people. All the misery she had seen had triggered the desire in her of trying to make a difference in the cold and often cruel ways of human societies. And now she's here and… and everything – her noble ideas, her principles, everything she'd set out to do - goes down the toilet.

Nauseated by the realization, she stops, her face a mask of bitter disillusionment. Her stomach twists into a cold knot as she notices which door it is she's standing at. '_What is this, an evil joke? Why_ _did I come here?'_ she thinks, incredulously, involuntarily stepping up to look through the tiny window into the room. She doesn't want to, but her legs have a different idea. Watching silently, she stands there, biting her lip and hugging herself. The nausea worsens, and the flood's rising behind the dam of her self-control, threatening to break it any moment now. She's hardly able to move and step aside as the door opens to let out Dr. deJoria, who's almost running into her.

"Keisha?" A confused glance. "What are you doing here?" She stops as she notices the nurse's desperate expression.

"I don't know…" the youth whispers, hardly able to suppress the choked sobs. Her eyes stay glued to the window as her view is again obstructed by the closing door. "I… I just find it so hard to do this…" As if on command, the blond little girl in the adjacent room turns her head from the TV screen to look at her - sending down an icy shudder Keisha's spine. "It's so hard to lie to him…"

* * *

Hadley's Hope – Day 4 – 0100 hours

A cold chill makes the tiny hairs on his neck stand on end and travels further down his spine. Hicks knows the feeling all too well. He turns around. Sure enough, a tiny figure is standing in the doorway, looking at him. Operations is down to emergency power at night, but though he can't see more than just her small silhouette, he knows it's Newt who is standing there in her usual shy stance, obviously uncertain whether she shall disturb the peaceful silence of Operations. Hicks spins around casually in his chair and invites her in with a smile and a little nod.

„A visitor for me at this time? That's nice. I was beginning to feel kinda lonely here." He waits for a return smile, but Newt still seems too shy to react to his joke. But she steps closer, slowly, one step at a time, as not to wake anyone. Since most of Hadley's involuntary occupants are sleeping further back in the big room or in MedLab, there isn't really much reason for her concern, but after having observed the girl over the course of four days now, Hicks has come to the conclusion that this is simply the way she has learned to move around the alien-infested station, no matter how safe her surroundings appear to be. He can't blame her. After all this caution has kept her alive for over three weeks, when she had been on her own - way before they had virtually stumbled over her. He watches her approach and notices the concentrated expression and sweat on her face as well as the little, tightly clenched fists at her sides, and he knows the reason for this unusual visit in the middle of the night.

"Another bad dream, huh?"

She looks at him for a moment, silent –before she nods and comes to a halt in front of the brightly illuminated instrument board, glancing over the dozens of tiny lights in wonder. The blue light of the surveillance monitors illuminate her face.

"What are you doing?" Her whisper is almost inaudible.

"Well...," Hicks bends forward, placing his elbows on his thighs and folding his hands. „Essentially, I'm watching television. Although the program is a little dull." He gestures at the monitors. Newt's eyes follow his hand. "You know, on these monitors we can see everything that's happening around us – which means nothing, at the moment. There's nothing to be worried about." _'At least not yet'_, he continues in his thoughts. The situation can virtually change any minute, but that's nothing to tell a six-year old child who's just woken from a nightmare. Better to spread a little optimism. She probably knows anyway. "Wanna help me?" She bites her lip, insecure.

"You mean, watching the monitors?"

"Yeah. I could use some help, you know? I am getting a little tired, and it is easier to stay awake if there are two watching. Oh, and there is another very important task for you: You must punch me if I fall asleep. Don't let me close my eyes, okay?" He closes his eyes demonstratively and waits. About ten seconds later he feels a soft touch at his shoulder and shakes his head, eyes still closed. "That wasn't hard enough. I'm still sleeping." He imitates a loud snore. The next punch is harder, and it's accompanied by a tiny giggle. Carefully he opens one eye. Newt's standing right in front of him, covering her mouth with her hands.

"This is silly."

Hicks smirks, pleased with himself. He's managed to cheer her up again. Another small victory in this mess. Something positive in this endless night.

"No, it isn't. I'm wide awake now, see? Thanks." He looks around. "Now, where do we get a chair for you? Let me see." It appears as if all chairs are located further behind in the room, close to the sleeping bodies of Vasquez, Hudson, Ripley and Gorman, and he doesn't dare leaving the monitors out of his sight for even a brief moment. Something on the edge of his perception claims his attention: One of the monitors is flickering and turns to black while he's still watching, sending an electrical jolt of tension through his nerves and instantly putting him into alarm mode. Holding his breath and eyeing the motion sensors of the robot sentry unit closest to the concerned video-camera, he braces himself in expectation of seeing one or more of the bastards there in another attempt to make it to their human prey. But nothing's there. No blinking dots, no read-outs, no nothing. Everything stays inconspicously calm. Eventually, his heartbeat returns to normal, and he allows himself to switch his attention – at least partly - back to the girl. "Okay, you know what we'll do?" He grabs her under the arms and carefully sits her down on his thighs. She seems very light for a girl her age, but that's hardly a wonder considering she's barely had anything to eat during the past month. "How's that?"

"Okay."

"Okay? Good." Hicks leans back. "My suggestion is that you watch the three upper monitors, and I keep my eyes on the two lower ones." _'And the one that just quit on us.'_ "Agreed?"

"Aye-firmative."

He can't help but grin. It seems that Newt's absorbing more and more of Hudson's language every day. They're probably going to have to intervene before she's getting started on using some of the nastier words in the Private's vocabulary.

* * *

A sad smile's playing around Hicks' mouth as he wakes from his memories. It had been a good night, a night that had left him with the feeling of not being completely useless. His presence and little jokes had calmed down the girl enough to send her back to sleep after an hour of shared observation duty on the monitors, and his own – after Apone's death – somewhat dark mood had at least temporarily lightened. And since it had been Vasquez' turn to wake from a bad dream without being able to dose off again – rare enough for the tough Mexican – he had put the opportunity to good use by leaving the perimeter to fix the defect circuits on the video camera. And while he had been at it, another idea had gained a footing in his unoccupied brain, probably triggered by the permanent boredom. A little spark of adventure that he was sure none of the others would have appreciated… but hell, nobody except Vasquez – and maybe Bishop – would ever know, right? It had come to him during his fast search for some work tools in the room closest to the defect cable: Somehow his attention had focused on a calendar on the wall, a picture of snow-covered trees and a frozen pond, very scenic… and the realization had hit him, however inappropriate it was at that time: It was December – late December. Two days before Christmas, to be exact…

Hicks stares at the wall right in front of him, or rather the virtual beach the illuso has been set on by Keisha, probably for the calming effect of the waves. He doesn't see them though, nor does he hear them. His mind's in Hadley's Hope again, scanning the room he's standing in for treasure… possible Christmas gifts. Something to make life a little more pleasant for the next approximately 12 days before help can arrive. Something that would perhaps rise everybody's spirits for a moment or two, even if the very thought of Christmas in this hellhole seems downright preposterous. Some luxury items, not necessary for their immediate survival. Something like…

"Vasquez?" he mumbles into his head-mike, covering his mouth. He may be feeling adventurous, but he's not stupid. Too much noise can kill, especially here, outside the perimeter. The smart gunner's reply comes immediately.

"Copying."

"Everything still calm?"

"Like a graveyard," comes her fast answer. Awkward silence. "Damn," she mutters. "Didn't mean it like that."

"I know…" He inhales deeply. "Listen, I'll be looking around a bit. Might take a few more minutes."

"What are you doing?"

"Surprise," he smirks. "Just keep an eye on the readouts for me. I'll be back real soon. Over and out." He steps behind the office table and pulls open the first drawer. "Let's see what we've got here…"

* * *

"-oke up and is coherent."

The door slides open and spits several people into his room. The young nurse he's already seen. And that ascetic-looking, middle-aged doctor with the annoyed expression on his face who's preceding her seems likewise familiar, even if he can't put a name to him, yet. As for his third visitor... he stiffens, briefly questioning his being awake and out of the drugs' embrace – for there it is, the black and white face which had brought those terrible words

_[She... didn't... make it.]_

and has been following him into his dark dreams. It's not a ghost after all. Nor is it the product of his drug induced nightmares. It's for real… and attached to the slim, trained body of a young woman in a black jumpsuit. Hicks can't help but gape at her appearance. Very short black hair frames her exotic looking face with the high cheekbones – but it's the tattoo that's demanding his immediate attention, almost seeming to automatically pull it in and hypnotically bind it. He dimly remembers having seen such ritual tattoos before. Back when he was young. At school, in some ancient photos… what was it? Some kind of tribals, right? From some kind of pacific tribe? Maori? Something like that. The black pattern across her face functions almost as a mask, keeping the focus off her large, dark eyes and full, uncolored lips. Even without any make-up – she's stunning… except for the strangely cold expression in her eyes. It's news to him that brown eyes can look that cold. Kinda like Vasquez when she's _real_ riled,

_Vasquez – she's dead, too_

but without the hot boiling temperament underneath. Scrutinizing. Staring at him with professional interest and nothing more. No care, no compassion, no nothing. The result is a sudden feeling of vague uneasiness. The notion of being a rare virus under the microscope. A brief glance to the girl's dark face who's standing behind his new visitor, looking excessively ordinary compared to her all of a sudden – and angry. There's unmistakable tension between the members of the little group.

"Corporal Hicks," the mysterious beauty says with only the faintest trace of a studied smile. It's right then when his mind decides he doesn't like her. "What welcome news to finally have you back among the living!"

She sounds somewhat military… but the rest just doesn't add up. She's not introducing herself, neither by rank nor by name. And nothing looks right. This ain't a military installation he's at… '_You know damn well whose station or ship this is, soldier!' _an alarmed voice in the back of his mind whispers, and his eyes widen in horrified realization. _'They're_ _Weyland Yutani staff, remember? It had been Burke's people who came back to fetch you… who also killed_ _Gorman… and probably Bishop… and yourself almost, too! Who shot the Sulaco out of the sky and - __and now_ _what? They've got you. What do they want? Why did they come back?'_


	6. Chapter 5 - Deep Blue Sea

**ALIENS: CHRYSALIS (Book 1)**

Chapter 5 : Deep Blue Sea

* * *

"What d'you want?" he replies, warily. He's on enemy territory, that's for sure. The doctor – his name plate reads 'Hikahi' – brushes past the dark beauty to check on the readouts above his head and the drip at his side.

"Relax," the man tells him with a thick accent Hicks recognizes as Arcturian, shooting a tale-telling look back. "You're safe here. There's nothing to worry about. How do you feel?"

"Nothing to worry about?" He'd get angry if he only had the strength, but all he can give them right now is a skeptic glance. "This a Weyland Yutani ship?"

"Not a ship," the brunette says evenly. "You're on Phooka Station."

"Whatever." He doesn't really listen. "It belongs to W.Y., right?"

"Yes." Without looking at him, she pulls a chair over and sits her behind down next to him, folding her hands in a business-like manner. Her simple answer sends a shudder through her opposite. No accent here. If anything, she's speaking the clearest English he's ever heard.

"What do you want from me?"

She's slowly shaking her head now, an unbelieving smile playing around the corners of her mouth. The movement of the dark lines in front of him makes Hicks dizzy.

"Gee, you could be a little more thankful, don't you think?" A curt nod towards the doctor who seems to have a hard time keeping his tongue in check while he's pretending to be busy with the replacement of the glucose bottle on the other side. "The good doctor here lost quite some sleep over your wellbeing. He literally brought you back from the dead, and all you can do is gripe about it?" It earns her an angry stare.

"Why did you?" Hicks shifts his attention to Hikahi, eyes narrowed in suspicion. The doctor simply looks at him.

"It's my profession."

"Aw, hell…!" Damn, he can already feel what little strength he has desert him. He can't even think straight anymore! "Don't give me this shit! After all what happened, you're saying you saved me without ulterior motives? Please!" It's more of a sigh than the angry reply he had intended, and his overwhelming weakness annoys him to no end. His eyes stay on the doc's face for a moment longer, then wander back to the woman on the other side of the bed. She's not looking at him though, and her eyebrows are haughtily arched towards her hairline.

"My, Doctor Hikahi, your patient seems a tad paranoid, wouldn't you agree?"

"Where's Carter Burke?" Hicks is too exhausted to continue this discussion as heatedly as the occasion deserves. His dry throat's hurting and over his head he can hear the accelerated rhythm of his heartbeat, which does nothing to help him regain his composure. "Ask him."

"Carter Burke?"

He glares at her. _'Oh yeah! Like you don't know him!' _But if she's lying, she's very good at it. Not a trace of insecurity in either her voice or her face is giving her away. But he's really too tired now. The confrontation, however short it has been so far, has drained him of the little strength he had.

"Forget it," he mumble to himself.

"Good," she replies. "Because we're not here to fight with you. We rather thought we'd bring you up to date with concerns to your whereabouts, your health… everything that should be of more interest to you right now than kicking our asses for saving you."

She's talking perfect sense, even if she does so in a cool, detached and slightly condescending manner. If he could, he would blush now. He's feeling kind of sheepish. Yeah, he's in the snake's pit, alright, but right now what he should do is probably find out as much as he can about the state he's in, or their plans for him. 'Cause there is still that voice in the back of his mind insisting they didn't burn a lot of energy to retrieve him from Acheron for nothing. Does that count as being paranoid? And even so – being paranoid ain't an automatic guarantee they're not out to get you, right?

"Okay…" he agrees warily. "So?"

"You've probably been wondering about the cut on your neck," the doctor at his right side begins..

"Can't remember hurting it…"

"You didn't." Hikahi folds his hands and gives him the professional mix of concern and care Hicks is familiar with. "We implanted you a new PDT. State of the art."

"But-"

"I know. The USCM doesn't do that to their soldiers since they don't want hostile forces to be able to pick up the signals on their scanners… but to be honest - you're a long way from serving right now, and if you like, you can always have it removed later. Right now we need the exact data it delivers to ensure your battle against leukemia will be successful. A nice side-effect of it is also that we can spare most of the wires we'd usually have to torture you with."

The word bounces around in Hicks' head like a stray bullet. It makes the little hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rise, makes his skin crawl.

"I've got leukemia?" Hikahi nods matter-of-factly, whereas the young nurse at his foot-end is looking apologetically at him. She's looking sorry… for him. Alarm sirens spring to life in his head. "What – how-"

"Don't worry. It's not like in the old days. I'm confident we're going to have you cured within the next four weeks." He sees the dozens of questions in his patient's eyes and continues: "Leukemia is a common side-effect of radiation… and you've been exposed to a very heavy dose. A deadly dose in fact." He lowers his voice. "It was also the reason for the child's demise. I'm sorry."

The lump in Hicks' throat makes a dramatic reappearance. Here he is, worrying for himself, when everything and everybody else went to hell. Why should he really care whether he's going to live or not? It won't be like in the good ol' days _EVER_ again. The doc has left his place next to his head and steps up to the foot-end of the bed, unceremoniously folding back the blanket and exposing Hicks' legs. Hicks can't help but twitch in anticipation of the awful image of the sorry remains… after all, he vividly remembers how it felt back when he was lying in that darn tunnel… but a wonder happens - it's still there! That hasn't been a cushion under the blanket. Funny enough, he feels a tidal wave of relief washing over him as he watches as the doctor removes a strange looking, dark bandage which is covering his entire lower leg down to the ankle.

"Okay…" Hikahi pauses and looks at him. "This will feel a little strange."

"You mean it's going to hurt."

"Yes. But not much, don't worry. This bandage has very, very thin needles on the inside … they are penetrating the muscle and are under weak current to help building it up again. It's looking worse than it is. Just be ready for it, okay?"

Hicks' glance slides down to his right leg, inwardly preparing for the worst.

"Isn't he a wizard?" The dark beauty's voice pierces his concentration, even more since the sarcasm in her tone is very obvious. He turns his head towards a non-telling face, a question on the tip of his tongue – when Hikahi removes the bandage.

He can't help but wince, looking in disbelief at the gadget the doctors placing on the side. It looks mean! With dozens of shining metal needles which appear to be even thinner than fiberglass – but, damn, they're _long_! And the tiny droplets of his blood on them don't do anything to make them look less like a torture instrument. But even as he's taking in the breath for a complaint, he sees his leg... and shuts up in amazement. The calf muscles had been torn to shreds as far as he dimly remembers... his recollection of those last days in the ruins of Hadley's Hope being rather vague... but except for the three parallel-running thick red scars on the back of his leg, it's actually looking pretty good. There's even a little muscle tone and not the crater holes he sort of expected, because, man, that had been a mean infection in there! As if she's reading his mind, the woman at his side says: "You should really thank the doctor for saving that leg! You know, his first instinct was to get out his saw and -"

"Isis, shut up!" Hikahi raises his voice, his eyes sparkling with fury. "He doesn't need to hear this now!" He shifts his attention back to his patient. "I'm sorry, Corporal. I was only trying to help you. Your leg was in such bad shape, it would have been safer – and easier to –" He interrupts himself and smiles apologetically. "I apologize. Why don't you forget about this? All that counts now is that everything took a turn for the better and is hopefully working again." He grabs his patient's foot. "Now, let's try and move those toes for me, okay? Let's see whether everything's working as it should."

Hicks looks down, at first not knowing which muscles to strain to get his willpower transferred down there. Nothing happens. A sinking feeling washes over him. Fear. Ridiculous. Why does he even care? The young colored nurse next to Hikahi gives him an encouraging look.

"You didn't use your muscles for a month, Dwayne. This is quite normal, don't worry. It doesn't mean anything. Just try to concentrate, okay?"

"You're feeling that?" Hikahi again, closing his fingers around his toes.

"Yeah." Man, if only he wasn't so damn tired...

"Good. Now try to move 'em. Come on. Come on, try harder!" It's ridiculous, but Hicks feels sweat trickling down his face. It doesn't help to sense the slightly bemused look his other female visitor – _'Isis. Hikahi called her Isis!' -_ is granting him, as if she was wondering what could possibly be so hard about this task. His whole body tenses as he tries to focus on his right foot. And finally, to his endless relief, he feels his toes move just the slightest bit. The doctor gives him a satisfied smile. „Well done, soldier! Looks like we reassembled you correctly."

He straightens and looks at Keisha while he's still addressing Hicks, but it's obvious the words are foremost meant for her. "You should practice this as often as possible, until you are strong enough to start with the real rehab. Keisha here will help you with the exercises. It will take some time to build up the muscle again, but that it's already working like that is a small miracle, trust me. Some people lost their legs for much lesser reasons."

His patient looks at him blankly.

"Yeah... guess I'm a lucky dog." Hicks's cynical reply earns him a consternated sigh from the Arcturian and a bemused smirk from the woman next to him. Only the nurse's face remains serious. Is this even a trace of compassion he's seeing there? Well – he doesn't want it. Compassion from a Weyland Yutani employee – he must be dreaming! Inwardly shaking his head to himself, he asks the one million dollar question. "When can I go home?"

Let's see how well they lie. He stares into the beauty's brown eyes, searching for the little flicker of insecurity that would give her lie away. But his piercing gaze is met by indifference. And her voice is likewise calm and content.

"We are very far away from the standard hyperspace routes, I'm sorry to say. The next ship that will dock here is due in about eight months."

"Eight... months?" _'Don't tell me you're taking this at face value, soldier!'_ the knowing voice in the back of his mind sneers. _'You know they're just telling you shit. They won't let you go_ _AT ALL!' _But still... he swallows visibly. "Can't... can't you just freeze me until..."

"No, sorry," Hikahi replies, wrapping his leg up again with a normal bandage now. "We don't have any cryo-facilities on this station."

"No - what?" That's a load of first-class bullshit they're giving him here, and his tone's betraying his annoyance. No cryo-chambers on such a modern station? Sure... and they don't have computers either, right? It's the woman who answers, again with that slightly condescending touch to her voice he can't help but hate already.

"We are a full-time research station, Corporal. We work here. We don't travel. There's no need for us for cryo-sleep whatsoever. And since the tubes take up considerable space and energy resources, we decided to spare them. I'm afraid you'll have to tough it out with us for those eight months." She ignores his hostile stare.´

"Well, first of all we've got to get you on your feet again of course," the doctor adds, putting the blanket back. "This alone will take some weeks. Months, if you want to get back to the condition you were in before."

"Why would I want that?" Right now, all he wants to do is sleep. All this hoopla around him has left him completely spent. Too much information at once, and too many awful details... leukemia... eight months until... He can't even think straight anymore. Hikahi raises his eyebrows.

"Don't you want to serve again?"

"Serve?" Hicks' voice would be bitterly sarcastic if he had the energy left for it. "You mean, I go out, get shredded to pieces and screwed sideways ... and can't wait to get a repeat?" A weak laugh. Okay, time to collect another lie: "Does the Corps know I'm here? Do they know what happened?" Fuck, why is he even asking this? It's not like he can't guess the truth, no matter what they're going to tell him.

"The Corps should know about it in the meantime, yes." Isis is looking at her fingernails, not him. But not to avoid his probing stare, no. Judging from her expression, she's likelier simply plain bored. As in 'not giving a damn'." We sent out a report three weeks ago." Seeing the obvious question on his face, she places her hand on her lap and adds: "It's still too early for a reply. We'll tell you when we get it."

_'Sure'_, he thinks, closing his eyes. The exhaustion is substantial. He's done for, for the next few hours, even though he knows that sleep is probably going to bring along another one of those grueling nightmares. Seems there's no way out for him – it's either staying awake in an uncertain and unsettling situation, feeling fully well that something's off, or diving down to the memories of his weeks in hell. Whatever he chooses, it's clear he won't get much rest.

"You tired?" He doesn't honor the ridiculous question with a reaction. "You wanna sleep?"

"Let's leave." The doctor's voice, footsteps leading away from him. "He's still in recovery and needs all the rest he can get. He's also probably going to have to chew on what we gave him for a while."

"Chew on?"

"Think about. Come on, Isis. Leave him alone. You can come back tomorrow – he won't go anywhere." More footsteps, then the rustling of fabric as the blanket gets pulled over his arms all the way to the chin. Someone touches his shoulder.

"Sleep, Dwayne... and don't worry. Everything's gonna be okay... shhhhhhhh..."

He lets himself fall.

* * *

The alien drone is huge. My head hardly reaches its shoulders as I'm standing right in front of it for the first time, nothing separating us except for the experimental, portable stasis beam which is generated by the little remote control in my hand. It's a somewhat eerie feeling, because you can't see it. You don't know if it's really there, protecting you. The only way you'll know it's not working as it should will be to have the thing jump at you and tear you in two. But this would probably happen so fast, you'd probably be dead before you'd have the chance to be shocked. There are three heavily armed security guards around me, their weapons pointing at the xenomorph's center, but they wouldn't be able to stop it if Darwin's little gadget should really screw up. Even if they'd fire at once – I'm standing only two meters away, and the acid splash would reduce me to a sorry puddle in a matter of seconds. Better not to think of it. I take a deep breath and address Darwin, knowing she's standing not far behind me.

"I guess we're ready to go."

It's 3.00 a.m..Most of the station's inhabitants are in their quarters, sleeping, probably dreaming of a nicer place than the cold metal surroundings; unsuspecting of the terror which is about to roam the corridors above them in a minute. It's the last thing on my list for tonight after the hectic day, and even I can feel the strain on me. I might be an artificial person, but today I'm feeling for the first time that I've got limits, too. It's also the first time in my existence that has me honestly hoping I won't screw up.

"Alright," my boss says, and it's also for the first time in ages I think I'm hearing something like excitement in her voice. "Then let's go! They're already waiting for us down there."

As if it understood her words, the thing before me shoots out its inner jaws – against the shield, uttering a shrill, ear-piercing shriek that sounds unmistakably angry. Does it have a hunch about what's about to happen to him? That it's about to give its life for the noble cause of enhancing mankind's knowledge and help us turn its brethren into weapons? Probably not. But it's pissed nevertheless. I move the remote just the slightest bit, pushing the being into the direction of the door. The other one we separated it from earlier shrieks in the back of its dark hive. It's indeed as if they knew…

We're facing the door now on our way to the elevator, carefully measuring step by step. I know Darwin and the guards are standing there, watching our approach and forming a tight cordon around us, but I don't look at them. My full concentration belongs to the most valiant guinea pig we've ever faced in this facility… and probably beyond. It's the equivalent of a dance on the tightrope, blindfolded. Just one false step and we're all going to fall. The thing claws at the invisible barrier, swishing its tail in fury and trying to turn around. I adjust the beam, make the space even smaller, and push on. Its arms are hanging by its side now. There's not enough room for it to raise them anymore, and it's forced to take small steps only, making it look a tad ridiculous. Nobody laughs though. They're all scared shitless behind me, except for Darwin maybe, who's nevertheless treating her object of study with an amount of respect I've never seen her give to anything else… probably the only way she knows how to express fear. We've reached the elevator. With the alien right before me, I can't reach for the switch. Darwin does it for me, stepping up so close to the predator that all it would take for her to touch it would be for me to deactivate the stasis shield.

"Careful!" I hear one of the guards behind me say. Unbelievably, she grants him a thin smile. She's actually enjoying the scenario, no doubt about it! Something different from the old same-o, same-o procedures, huh? The cabins arrive, and with them the most critical moment. I'll be alone – with only one of the guards - with the thing on this ride. The elevator's not big enough to accommodate us all in there, especially with the security distance everybody cares to keep from the xeno. So it will be me, one scared guy and **_it_** in one cabin, and Darwin with the others in the other, riding down to Lab 4. Approximately thirty seconds of being on my own. I begin to understand why nobody else wanted the job.

The dreaded tone of the arriving cabins. The doors slide open. Now or never, I guess. I can feel Darwin's questioning glance on me.

"Will you be okay in there?"

"Hey," I joke. "You know me: I'm the woman without nerves, right?" I don't dare take my eyes off the xeno. "What about Mr. Kick-your-ass-any-time?"

"Oh, I'm definitely ready to kick some," the guard's replying, desperately trying to sound macho. But he can't betray my trained ears.

"Okay…" Darwin seems to be satisfied enough as she steps up to the other cabin, still hesitating. "We'll see each other again in thirty second from now, right?"

"Don't worry," I reassure her. "I'm up to this. Piece of cake." I don't know what cake actually has to do with it, but it's Skin's standard remark whenever Darwin asks him for anything tricky or out-of-the-ordinary, and she always seems to be satisfied with it. She nods – at least I think she nods, I'm not looking at her – and disappears in the cabin with the two guards. The door closes. We're alone now. It may be nonsense, but I believe the thing's bracing for something in front of me. Getting ready to raise hell.

"So, Mr…."

"Leary."

"Mr. Leary. Let it go in first. Then we'll have it walk out in front of us on the backside. What do you say?"

"Alright," he agrees, his voice sounding definitely strained. "Just keep it in check, okay? If I've got to fire in there, we're both going to get roasted."

"Don't worry," I assure him cooly and push the big, black fighting machine into the elevator, all the way up to the backdoor, not allowing it to turn around. Stepping in after it, I see its tail twitch and smile. _'Yeah, you'd like to give it to me badly, huh? Too bad for you I'm the one with the_ _remote.'_

The guard enters the cabin behind me and the door slides shut. Now that we are actually crammed in here with not more than 2.5 meters between us and the beast, we both don't feel like talking.

"Level 3, Lab 4," I instruct the elevator. "And no music!" Wouldn't that be a funny image to have this thing ride the elevator twitching to the sound of the latest techno-tunes? The bland female computer voice asks me for my authorization code, and I enter it. The cabin's dropping silently. So silently I can hear my companion's heavy breathing behind me. And the anguished screaming of the metal floor under the thing's hind claws. It can barely move, but even so it's got enough power to dig into the steel alloy. It radiates a vague smell of wet metal… like money you dug out of a wishing well. I can't help but think of the duel we're about to witness. Maybe Skin's right. Maybe this thing will have a very late – or very early – fish dinner instead of Mac having his 'Xenomorph à la Surprise'. We're going to see very shortly.

Coming to a stand, the backdoor opens, opening the way to the hatch where we're going to dispose of the alien. It hisses angrily and tries to turn its head in my direction, but it doesn't stand a chance. I usher it into the corridor and see Darwin and the other two guards waiting for us, their weapons locked onto the E.T.

"Well?" Darwin, surprisingly sounding a bit relieved.

"No prob," I reply casually. "Hey, I'm the lord of the remote control, right?"

"Right."

We make for the hatch, and somehow I can feel a strange kind of tension building on our silent way to it. Rising anticipation. We all know we're very likely about to watch an awesome – and probably gruesome – show. Two killing machines duking it out… live! Who could ask for a better late-night program? Perhaps we should have sold tickets?

The time has come for the last critical manoeuvre: moving the alien into the hatch with the retractable floor, and thus dump it into the pond… or rather, the corridor leading towards the main basin. I don't know how fast it is exactly, but the prospects of having the stasis beam cut off by the closing hatch are hairy. If it jumps at once, it might get one of those capable claws into the door before it closes… and then? If the guards have to shoot it, everything's been in vain. We could of course go up and get the other one, but then we won't have anything to show Rosselli and Vox in the morning… not to speak of the possibility of the same thing happening again. Well, since there's no alternative, I guess it's idle thinking about it, right?

"Ice, we're going down the control room," Darwin says. No doubt she's noticed the delicate situation, too… and wants to get away from it? Naw, I decide. She's simply trusting me to pull it off. "Meet you there in a moment, okay?"

"Okay," I say, pushing the alien into the opened hatch and stepping back to gain a little more security distance from it for the eventuality of its attack. "Leary? And you others – ready for action?"

"We're set," the guard confirms, and I can see the three pulse rifles to the left and right of me pointing at the xenomorph's back. "If it so much as twitches, it's dead."

"No no," I object, hearing Darwin's disappearing footsteps on the stairs in the back. "Don't fire until I say so. It'll most likely try to attack, but I don't think it'll be fast enough. It might make it to the door, but not before it closes. Fire only if it gets out… wait for my command." I adjust my fingers on the control, straining. Game time. Here's your chance, sucker! "Ready?"

"Do it."

"Close hatch!" I order the voice-activated controls, raising my hand with the remote to have the stasis shield effective to the last possible moment. The pneumatic drive hisses, and in the second before the steel-adamantium door slams shut I see the E.T. whirl around so fast my optics only show it as a dark smear in my vision – right before its left arm shoots through the almost non-existent gap. Tortured material bulges in its hinges, and through the angry hiss of the thing I hear the surprised gasps of the guards, see their pulse rifles jerking and know what's about to come. "Don't!" I scream, jumping into their line of fire, just outside the savagely thrashing claw's reach. "Activate floor mechanism!"

The thing hisses and spits at me. On the monitor above the hatch I can see the floor opening up right underneath the alien's feet. It props them against the walls, digging into the alloy, squealing. It's fury's impressive. With a sharp twang, the back of its tail hits the metal, leaving a shiny scratch on the wall and taking out the neon lamp … and then it falls, landing with a splash in the water. The four of us stand there for a few seconds more, stunned by the sheer ferocity and speed of the attack, our eyes following the dark silhouette as it dives – gracefully - through the water. Okay… I swallow. There's no further test needed to confirm that the thing's most certainly well-adapted to water. It swims like a crocodile in fact, or rather a crossbreed between crocodile and dolphin, diving up and down and sideways, driven by forceful movements of its strong tail. Uh-oh… I fear the worst for Mac…

"Fuck!" one of the guard utters, wiping his forehead and exhaling audibly. "That was too fucking close for comfort! That bastard's _fast_!"

"Yeah," I agree, turning on my heels into the direction of the stairs without being able to take my eyes off the amphibious predator. It can't get into the main tank yet, not until we open the last door… but something tells me to hurry up just the same. If only because I can't wait to see what happens further. The three men in their heavy armor follow me down, the noise coming from them equaling a herd of rhinos, so naturally everybody in the control room's looking into our direction as we arrive. Not that it's crowded. Darwin, Skin … and Kira, I'm surprised to see. She's still looking sick, but that could also stem from the fact that she had to get up in the middle of the night to come here. It's a big event, and – sick or not – everybody of our little tightly knit group who's not in ICU-treatment is required to be present.

The honorable Dr. Kurtz however is missing. Knowing Darwin, my guess is she didn't even tell him. Asking for something is a sure way complicate things with Phooka's big man. He can't forbid what he doesn't know about, right? My boss points her chin into the direction of the empty chair next to her and after telling the guards to help themselves with the autochef, maybe to a cappuccino or whatever they like, I oblige, noticing Skin's pale complexion even in the bluish dim light. He doesn't want to be here, that's for sure.

A shadow passes over our heads, and I look up, seeing Mac's brown striped silhouette circling his realm. I sense the difference in his behavior at once. He's agitated. No more circles in calm dignity – he's in hunting mode now, the big tail fin pushing him forward, the head checking to the left and right, taking in the water, tasting it for the sent of blood and expelling it through its gills. In his slightly opened mouth I can see some impressive sets of teeth. There's no doubt he's already picked up the vibrations in the water, even if there's still the barrier between him and his prey. After all, he's a highly sophisticated predator himself. He's searching for food, madly hungry after the two days of enforced diet.

"That was quite a show our friend delivered at the hatch," Darwin mentions casually, without taking her eyes off the monitors which show the alien in the flooded corridor. "I guess it hated being pushed around by you." She casts me a thin smirk. "You've made an enemy."

"Well, it has to get in line," I grin. "But I was sure glad the portable stasis beam past this test," I agree. "I must admit I was worried back there for a second."

"Good thing you kept those trigger-happy idiots from going crazy. " She glances back to where the guards are busy raiding the coffee-machine. "They would have killed it. They look as if they soiled their pants…" Shifting her attention back at me, she adds: "It takes some guts to do what you did. I appreciate it, Isis. Just wanted to let you know. You've already proven yourself to be a valuable addition to my staff."

"Are you going to show this footage to the brass tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah. Absolutely," she laughs, nodding at Skin, and I can't tell whether she was joking or not. "Alright, Lord of the Beasts, we're all set. We've got the popcorn, we've got the drinks, so let the show begin!"

I silently raise my right eyebrow at her somewhat unusually cheerful state of mind, but manage to keep my mouth shut and my gaze fixed on Scylar, who doesn't look as desperate as before but rather bloodthirsty himself, now that the time has finally arrived. I guess he's still believing his pet will make short process of the E.T..

"Do your thing, baby!" he mutters to himself, so low that I'm the only one who can hear it. His fingers fly over the keyboard, and the gate to the main basin opens. "Go get it!"

The barrier's not even up halfway when the alien squeezes it's flexible body through the opening gap and enters the tank. The tiger shark turns too, sensing the difference in its surroundings and having learned to associate the vibrations from the door with the arrival of prey a long time ago. Just one forceful swing of the tail fin spins it around 180° and accelerates it into attack mode. I can't help but feel fascinated by the transformation of the calm 14-foot fish into the biologic equivalence of a sleek, deadly torpedo, set on destroying the intruder in its kingdom.

"Get him, Mac! Get the fucker!" Skin seems to have completely forgotten about what will happen to his precious one once it's taken a bite off the xeno… or maybe he doesn't care. If Mac has to die, he should at least take the thing down with him, right?

Incredibly, the shark accelerates even further, shooting through the water with deadly purpose, nose pointing into the direction of its prey. The alien has dived down to the bottom, all four limbs propped against the tiles. It doesn't move. Is it counting on its camouflage? A concept that's working fine in a metal environment, but here its dark silhouette is as obvious as a 'roach on a vanilla cake. Maybe they're powerful but dumb? Can't adapt to new situations? From the corners of my eyes I can see Darwin straightening in her seat, eyes wide in excitement. The moment of attack! The shark turns sideways, opening its jaws to the max and extending three rows of saw-blade-like teeth. Several tons of biting pressure are about to crush the alien and rip it apart – as it catapults itself upward with one violent move. The diagonal angle brings it up against Mac's white belly. Simultaneously the shark's jaws crash shut – as the alien's claw sinks into its abdomen all the way to the xeno's shoulder!

"No!"

Skin's chair flies back as he jumps to his feet. In the back, I can hear the guards gasp. Kira groans. The water turns red right before us as the alien plunges its other arm into Mac, who's spinning around in a sharp angle, his tail fin thrashing around. Half of the xeno's head disappears in his flesh. It looks as if the alien's trying to climb _into_ the shark! "Fuck, no!"

"Damn Skin, _sit down_!" Darwin yells without looking at the agitated biologist.

"God, look at that!" He sounds choked, close to tears. He doesn't even hear her. Or his mind is too absorbed by the scene unfolding in front of us. I didn't know there was so much blood in a fish – even a fish of this size! When the xeno retracts its claws, a dark-red cloud explodes out of the wounds along with strands of flesh and entrails, hiding the most gruesome detail of the slaughter from our view. A wet sound next to me, and then the rising stench of bile and medicine – Ms. Kitana just spilled her scanty dinner onto the floor. Nobody else seems to notice though, as our collective gaze is glued to the underwater ballet of death.

Earth's perfect predator is done for, that much is clear, 'cause even as it's thrashing around in a frenzy that would shake off every other attacker, its teeth snapping into the red water time and time again without finding its prey, the alien continues to disembowel it, to virtually rip it to pieces. Again it plunges its limbs – this time all four .. plus its jaws – into its opponent, tearing, clawing, shredding, making bloody confetti of Mac's organs, and this time its _entire _head disappears in the ragged hole its teeth have dug. The tiger shark goes into its death throes. Another cloud of chunky red obstructs our view, and I spin around to see the guards in the observation seats gaping at the scenario, their mouths hanging open. Their green-hued faces look almost comical. Another 45° degree spin and I look at Darwin, not knowing whether she even knows we're all still here, despite the stench of puke from the floor. Kira's covering her mouth and dully mumbles something about going to the restroom, but her legs don't carry her as she attempts to get up.

"Look!" I hear Darwin's excited shout. I turn towards the massacre once more. Mac's shredded body's sinking to the floor, the trashing having ebbed to the last twitches of some nerves which don't know the gruesome truth yet. She didn't mean him though, as her finger points towards the dark silhouette that's shooting through the red mists of the tank – straight at us. I have but a moment to register the reflection of light on grinning metal jaws – before it crashes into the security glass at full speed.

"Ouch!" I say, knowing that the impact must have hurt. The glass is indestructible. It doesn't give. It is – there's a tiny, glistening fissure where the thing slammed into the wall. Before I can even point it out to the others, a high-pitched sound pierces the room – and the tiny fissure spreads into a cobweb. Pressurized water shoots into the control room. It's clear what's about to happen. "Down!" I dive under the console before I'm even aware of it, knowing full well that running would be futile. The rustling of clothes to my left indicates someone – probably Darwin – is following my example – as the pane bursts into the room with a violent gush of red water – and all hell breaks loose!

The churning flood of liquid, shark chunks and shards crashes into the room with death-bringing force and fills up the rectangle in an instant, the roaring of the water drowning out all other noises. Without thinking, my hand dives into the pocket of my frock, my fingers closing around the remote control – probably our only chance for survival. I adjust my eyes to the circumstances, scanning my surroundings as I dive with quick strokes into the direction of the staircase. Little pressure waves behind me. Probably Darwin. A moment later, my head breaks through the surface – damn that fishy smell! – and I recognize our problems are even bigger: The pressure door to the corridor has closed – effectively locking us in with the alien!

A high-pitched scream in the back of the room. Treading water, I turn around and see dark red bubble to the surface where one of the guards was. Probably having been disarmed by the brutal flood, they can't defend themselves, and now the xenomorph's turning this room into a slaughterhouse! One of the remaining two screams and rises his arms, splashing around like a human propeller. The next moment, he's sucked below the surface. I turn around to see Darwin's wide-eyed face before me, her braid swimming behind her head like a wet albino rat. Skin surfaces next to us, eyes wide with panic. I'm amazed I'm still noticing all the tiny detail around me – like the glass shard sticking in his cheek - without being distracted from the number one question at hand.

"Let's go through the tank!" I shout over the death screams of the second guard, who's somehow made it to the surface again. "We should be able to- " A deep humming interrupts me. My boss's eyes scan the walls. The pumps. The pumps that were installed in this room for _just_ this case of emergency – but of course nobody thought it possible!

"No!" Darwin says, breathlessly, spitting water, nervously watching the surface. It's already starting to sink. A huge brown body with gaping red holes bobs lifelessly between us and the far end of the control room, obstructing our view. There's still movement. The alien? The remaining guard? "The water will be gone in about two minutes. We-"

"We'll be dead in two minutes!" Skin's voice, freaked out way beyond reasoning. His frightened glance darts from wall to wall. With him here, there's only Kira missing from our staff. Where is she?

I dive again and – see a dark silhouette in the red-hued water, racing towards us with unreal speed! A glimpse of glistening metal teeth. A shrill shriek from the surface, muffled by the water in my ears. They've seen it, too. No way out. We're fucked. We're – The remote! The pressure wave generated by the alien reaches me – when I hit all buttons at once, my hand pointing at the approaching xenomorph – to no effect! The next I know, it's upon us, jaws open wide, claws ready to rip me apart. I face death with open eyes. See the inner jaws shoot toward my brow – and bounce back from an invisible barrier – five inches from my head! Nothing touches me, not even the waves caused by the alien's full stop directly in front of me. We're inside a protective underwater stasis bubble, something I don't think has been created before! But damn, it can save our fucking hides! How deep does it go? Does it surround us like a real bubble... or is it like the beam I used to bring the alien here... open at the bottom?

Someone's screaming behind me. Skin. The alien's so close now, I could touch it without reaching out at all. It's claws slash at me, want to rip me to pieces as they did with Mac - but again they can't penetrate the bubble around us. Air – I need air! But that would mean letting it out of my sight! – No matter! The burning of my – real – flesh is drowning out all other sensations now. Becomes imperative. One stroke brings me to the surface, gasping.

"Isis, where-" Darwin, frantic.

"Stay behind me!" We're in the corner next to the locked door at the staircase I can't see the stasis shield, don't know how big it is. "Stay close!" Maybe one third of the water is already gone – meaning at least two more minutes before our feet will touch the ground again.

"Where is it?" Skin shouts, gagging at the taste of the bloody water he's been swallowing.

"Right here!" No sooner have I finished as the black nightmare surfaces in front of me, dripping, glistening death, lunging at me. Again, it bounces off the invisible barrier and falls back with a splash, uttering an angry squeal. I can't help but jerk back, bumping against someone behind me. They're screaming, both Darwin and Skin. They don't know about –

"It can't get us!" I yell over the angrily hissing and splashing alien. "Stasis shield's active!"

"But-"

"It's surrounding us! We're safe, but just as long as you stay behind me!"

"But how-" Darwin shuts up. It doesn't matter right now. Right now the only thing that matters is that it's keeping us alive. 'How' is a question that's a galaxy away with the alien slashing and biting and tearing like a rabid lion right in front of me. Like Skin's crazy ape in his pet zoo, only infinitely more deadly. It doesn't understand why it can't get to me. I'm right here, defenseless, warm breathing prey – there's nothing between us! Why can't it just rip me apart and tear the flesh off my metallic bones the way it did with the guards? Smash my colleagues' heads with its inner jaws and feed on their brains? The creatures are still a mystery to us, but if I understand one thing, it's that the thing before me is pissed off big time! Again its jaws slam shut right before my eyes, the attack as futile as the ones before, and it falls back with a big splash. Somewhere in the back of the room, I sense some kind of movement.

"Leary?" I yell, swallowing water. It tastes sickening. If I were human, I'd puke my guts out right now. "Leary! That you?" My feet touch the ground. Yeah! Finally! It can't sneak up from below anymore!

"Hold on!" The guard's voice. "I lost my rifle! I-"

"Don't kill it!" Darwin screams from behind, making my ears ring. She sounds frantic.

"What?" Skin, incredulous. For the first time, I'm in tune with him – against my human alter ego. Has she lost her mind? He says something else that gets drowned out by the splashing of the water when the xenomorph catapults itself at me with all its might. The water's shallow enough now for it to prop its limps against the floor and add even more ferocity to its attack by catapulting itself upwards– but the barrier holds. Scylar yelps behind me.

"Don't kill it!" Darwin repeats in case anyone could have misunderstood her. "We've got to catch it alive and return it to-"

"You're fuckin' crazy, lady!" The guard sounds unmistakably mad. From the corners of my eyes, I see him push himself through the belly-deep water – suddenly ducking to pick something up. When he straightens again, I think I see the bulky shape of the pulse rifle in his hands – and feel a little better, despite what Darwin says. "The bastard's already killed Raines and Gonzales! I'll be damned if I-"

"You _will _be damned if you kill it!" Darwin hollers behind me, her tone indicating she means every word! For the first time ever, I question her sanity, but I don't get to think about it longer, since the alien – fed up with its failure of making confetti of us – whirls around in the sinking water and decides to go for the more accessible prey in the room – Leary! I hear his shocked gasp even through the splashing water as the beast closes the 45 feet between them with the speed and determination of a missile.

"Noo-!" Skin's yelling behind me as I jump forward, my fingers fiddling with the controls of the stasis beam to turn off the shield around us and catch the alien in it before it slaughters the guard. Darnit, how did I – Leary raises the rifle, stumbling back.

"Don't shoot!"

Ha, whatever, boss! She can't seriously expect him to –

"Got it!" I yell, raising my arm and pressing the button – all at once, when the creature – impossibly – jumps up straight into the air to avoid the beam, getting a hold on the ceiling. "Fuck!" How did it know-

"You missed!" the guard shouts, standing with his back to the wall now with nowhere left to go as the alien leaps from the ceiling straight at him. The pulse rifle's angry bellow drowns out its furious shriek and Darwin's scream. Muzzle fire lights the room – and is deflected by the stasis field around the alien, flashing bright blue under the energy pulse! I got it – in midair, following its movement as it crashes to the floor, captured! Leary's shot slams into the ceiling, vaporizing cables and circuits, shredding the metal panels over our heads and sending red-glowing shrapnel flying through the room. Sparks rain down on us – as the light turns off. I'm the only one left standing as the others throw themselves to the floor – and feel a hot draft pass by my left ear with a high-pitched whine. It's pitch-black except for the flickering from the damaged wiring above us.

"I got it!" I announce. "Stay calm. The situation's under control!" Even though the emergency system has yet to kick in, I see everything. My vision is as exact as ever as I step up to the captured xenomorph and shrink the beam to the smallest size possible. Except for opening its jaws and hissing at me, it can't do a thing. Only now do I dare to take my eyes off it to scan the still dripping room – and see the guard sitting on his ass, eyes glazed in shock, cradling his weapon probably without even being aware of it. He's probably not even aware of me in the darkness.

"You okay?" I ask, hearing footsteps behind me. He doesn't answer. His mouth is moving, but there's not a sound coming out of it. Above my head, the bright blue emergency lights spring to life, bathing the control room in an atmosphere that feeds the illusion of still being underwater. And damn, it stinks!

"Leary?" It's Darwin behind me, sounding riled like I've never heard her before. "You heard me, didn't you?" I don't get her. If the beam hadn't worked literally at the last second, the guard would be dead. He waited as long as he could – longer. If the shot had been a hit, the spraying acid would have melted him like candle wax. Reducing her angry words to background noise in my head, I take in the damage. It's bad, and I don't know how she's going to justify this secret test to Kurtz tomorrow. He's going to go ballistic on her for sure! Never mind the disaster with three dead and the destroyed lab – she didn't ask him. She needs his approval for any such extraordinary undertaking – and she didn't even bother to ask him. I sure don't wanna be in her shoes now!

Lab 4 looks like it's been bombed. It's totally, utterly destroyed. Despite the obvious damage – the broken window to the tank and the shards crunching under our feet, the sparks and crackling of the electrical fire in the ceiling - the water's made short process of the highly-sophisticated electronics in this room – millions of credits literally flushed down the drain. Even the wealthy company will be pissed at this. I turn around a bit – keeping the beam where it was – and my feet touch something. I look down. It's a severed arm, still sticking in a white frock, which is dark red at the place where the shoulder should be. The nails are painted a glossy pink, and the clenched fingers are still holding a pen. Looks like I found Kira… or at least a part of her.

"Darwin?" I tug at her back without looking at her. "Darwin!" I sense her turning around, angrily inhaling to pass on some of her grief to me, too – but then she shuts up.

"Oh…" She can't seem to think of more.

"I – I found Kira," we hear Scylar's unhappy voice from somewhere close to the console. Mac's corpse is partly blocking our view as we look over… then a wet sound as he retches. Skin retches? I would have kept any bet he didn't even have a stomach! He's seen so many gross things in his line of duty, I seriously thought he was one of us – cold-blooded down to the last cell of his body. Guess I was wrong. We stare over to his dark, bent-over silhouette… and I see something else… or rather, some_one_ else lying between us and Mac. The shredded, bloody mess is barely recognizable as human and looks as if the unhappy guard –the bright patches of the remains of his uniform tell me his identity – got caught in a ventilator.

I feel Darwin stiffen next to me. She's detected him, too. She's probably already thinking about how she's going to explain this disaster to Kurtz… and how to keep it from Rosselli and Vox. She'll have to, or we're all in deep shit. But first – we gotta climb out of it. We're not yet out of the giant stinking mess we maneuvered ourselves into. I turn my head to look at the alien that's still crouching on the floor like a jaguar ready to pounce – and then frozen in time. It's just waiting for me to fuck up! It's going to be a long way up to the Ivory Tower again… I don't even want to think about being in the same cabin with this killer right now.

"Darwin?" As I raise my eyes to meet her look and get the approval to get going, the surviving guard behind us starts sobbing. The pulse rifle falls to the floor with a dull clatter. I'm surprised to see the tough, big guy break down right in front of us – until I see what's lying right beside him: It's a head…

"Will you be okay bringing it back, Isis?" my boss asks me with an uncharacteristically husky voice. The full scope of what has happened is probably beginning to dawn on her. Is that fear I'm hearing? She points at the crying Leary with her chin. "I don't think we can count on him to help you." She inhales sharply. I guess she's detected the reason for the guard's nervous breakdown, too. She's always pale, but right now she's so white, the blue hue of the emergency lighting gives her skin the complexion of a corpse. "I'm going to call security and order a team down."

"If Leary didn't torch the circuits," I add skeptically. "Or the water-"

"The alarm systems are water-resistant."

"Yeah, but you don't want Kurtz or our guests to be woken by the wailing of the claxons, right? Wasn't that why we switched to 'Silent Alarm' in the first place?" She stares at me, her silence admittance of her temporary perplexity – for the first time since I've known her.

"Can't you…"

"Override the emergency system?" I stare down at the alien. It hasn't moved. It can't. But I'm feeling still uncomfortable in its presence... all the more since I can't see the thin stasis layer that's protecting me. Half an hour ago, I made the mistake of severely underestimating it. I'm not going to repeat it."You know I can. But someone's going to have to keep our killer here in check in the meantime…"

I raise an eyebrow, knowing fully well how dicey the situation still is. Scylar's a wreck; we don't have to see him to be clear about that. He's probably shaking so hard right now, he would lose the alien in an instant from his focus. Leary's the same. This leaves only us women for the tough job. And since my artificial nature's making me the only one equipped for the task at hand, it's down to Darwin to use her I.Q. to override her nerves. She knows this. Taking a deep swallow, she raises her hand to take over the stasis control.

"Okay… do your thing, Isis. I'll do mine. Get us help, and get us out of here…" Leaden silence, only broken by the dripping water and the crying of the guard and Skin further back. "We're also going to need some medical personal." I nod and ready myself to hack my way into Phooka's operating system.

"You're okay with this?" I ask one last time with a brief side glance at the creature. Her hand with the remote is steady.

"Yes. Go."


	7. Chapter 7 - The Grand Scheme

**ALIENS: CHRYSALIS (Book 1)**

**Chapter 6: The Grand Scheme**

* * *

**SICK BAY, PHOOKA STATION**

It wasn't the monitor revealing the patient's REM status that startled her. Even with the steady line of hills steadily reaching peaks and descends, indicating that the patient's wakeful period was near, that didn't startle her to the least. Nor was it her watch beeping out loud, reminding her that her shift was almost over. She'd been waiting for it to beep for _ages_, as it seemed. Her eyes are already dark and puffy from the other endless nights she's had to commit to ever since the patient arrived. No. The beeping didn't surprise her either.

And it isn't the fact that the tray of food near her is getting cold too. Lord knows, her stomach has been grumbling all afternoon, demanding food only to be denied by rigorous procedures and reports and this and that. Because, let's face it, this is Phooka. And in Phooka, there is no such thing as, dare she say, a _lunch break_. Not even the fact that she needs to compose a report to Hikahi in regards to how well this day was (which is a waste of time, if you ask her since today is like yesterday and the day before that and the day before even that) in less than ten minutes from now. No. None of these things listed above bother her. None of them caused her to freeze in place, as if unable to move or think, like right now.

It was the lights turning off only to turn back on with a bright blue color that did it, though. It was the doorlocks in this entire sector automatically cycling and sealing off. It was the yellow light above her flashing on and off, as if she were in some a nightclub. Equally surprising was the electronic voice she's still hearing echo throughout the station, calmly informing the residents of the sudden status of Phooka, talking as if all the people here were as unemotional as that robot bitch, Isis.

Wide eyed like a woman about to meet God, Keisha stands paralyzed, observing the monitor right across her. It's located on the wall adjacent to the doorlock leading to the room. It has an awkward oval shape, like an eye, blinking red and black. Red and black. Red and black. Red and black. Keisha blinks herself, feeling somewhat nauseated. There are over a thousand of these screens, each found in every room. She hates them. Each time she passes by one of these oval shaped monitors she feels like a character in George Orwell's _1984_ novel, where Big Brother watched everyone and everything. And why not? The monitor, itself, looks like an eye! She can sometimes _swear_ that it follows her wherever she goes… Up. Down. Left. Right.

Keisha leans slightly toward it, her arms dangling down as if she were a zombie of some sort. Her chocolate features reveal an eerie paleness to them as she continues to study it, eyebrows slightly lifted in a bit of amusement. And grief.

A small red 'X' sign keeps flashing on and off again in the monitor. Red and black. Red and black. Red and black. Keisha blinks again, trying not to get sick again. She takes a deep breath and barely glances at the words below the 'X' sign: "Emergency System Activated."

Can this be a drill? She wonders. Not that this idea would be too far-fetched. They had, what, over ten drills last month alone? _Supposedly_, it was to prepare all residents of Phooka for any unwelcome events that might arise in the future. Lord, how many times did they get her out of bed because of those stupid drills? Ten? Fifteen times? And each time, Hikahi was always the one to bark at her for not being fast enough. Jerk. Couldn't he see that she was 'during that time of the month' when he yelled at her last time?

She remembers his angry glare, him shouting and talking about some nonsense. Responsibilities, she thinks. Yeah. Responsibilities. And she tried to keep from laughing since he always looks funny when he gets angry. That day was no different. His face turned red like a fresh tomato, ready to burst. His forehead somehow grew long and a bundle of wrinkles were created between his eyebrows as he frowned. His eyes were nothing but small gleaming beads, sparkling by frustration and stress. He yelled and yelled and yelled at her, still keeping that face throughout the lecture. All the while, she tried to tighten the loose knot on her stomach that threatened to collapse if she let it. Ha! It was a helluva moment for her, despite the harshness coming from Hikahi's harsh voice.

The young black woman sighs heavily, a little angry with herself for letting her mind drift off like that, even when something serious could be brewing right now. That's her problem. If she could name one thing she'd like to change about herself, it was that her mind always wandered off, even in the worse of times. If she didn't remind herself from time to time on where she was then she'd be daydreaming than getting _any_ work done. Then again… can anyone blame her? Cooked up here with nowhere else to go can do this to a person. She's also too young for the residents here to take her serious or, as she continuously hopes for, to take 'interest' in her. It's always the same everyday. So-and-so wants this, Keisha. Do this. Do that. And after you're finished, I want you to do this too.

"Never a dull moment here in Phooka," she tells herself very quietly, unaware that her mind is _still_ drifting off.

The hills in the REM monitor next to the patient's bed start to beep. Keisha immediately turns around, cursing herself for forgetting the poor man also inhabiting the room. Quickly, Keisha shuts the oval monitor off, so as not to alert the patient that the station might be experiencing some 'technical difficulties'.

_'Poor Dwayne'_, she remembers as she watches in silence the blond-haired man starting to stir from his slumber. After the little visit with Hikahi and Isis, he was worn out. Tired. And yes, she'll admit, he was pissed off too. Who wouldn't be? She may not know the entire story but it doesn't take a genius like that bratty face, Darwin, to realize that things must've been bad for Hicks prior to coming here. He practically looked like a glob of flesh before Hikahi and his team worked their wonders on him. Dwayne was ready to meet his maker for Christ's sake, that's how bad he was! So even simple tasks can be a burden to him. Which leads her to the question: whose idiotic idea was it to put so much strain into a still-recovering man? Was it Hikahi or that _robotic_ slut? Must've been her. Only a cruel person would do such a thing to Hicks. Hicks. Poor Hicks…

"No…!" the blond-haired man gasps as he jolts up from his bed, face full of sweat, hands clenched toward his chest.

Dwayne Hicks immediately glances at his breastbone area, as if he were looking for something there. He breathes hard, puffing out loud which causes his chest to move up and down very rapidly. Soon, the weary man realizes something and slowly tries to keep a steady rhythm. He takes a deep swallow and looks through his surroundings very carefully, rapidly looking left to right, in the corners of the room, at the shadows looming about, above the ceiling, and towards the imaginary images in his head.

To Keisha, Hicks looks uncertain that his environment is safe. He's a hotwired man, looking for anything out of place. Good thing she shut off the oval monitor earlier. Likewise for that annoying computer's voice that kept repeating itself like a broken record of some sort. She can only pray that Hicks doesn't say a thing about the change of lighting.

Keisha frowns a bit when she sees him bow his head in despair, soon running a hand across his wet hair. Another one of those dreams again? Keisha feels like asking. He's been having them ever since he came here. There hasn't been a day where she's walked into this room without him sweating profusely and inhaling hard. She constantly has to monitor his condition, especially since he's still weak and, yes, frail. If not for the meds, he'd probably be screaming and hollering like a mad man. Jesus, just what the hell _really_ happened to him out there?

"It's okay, Dwayne," Keisha smiles warmly and walks over to adjust his blanket. "Are you thirsty? I've got a bottle of water that has your name on it."

Her smile widens as she holds up the object she refers to, using the friendliest tone and face she can devise. A part of her feels heartbroken when Hicks just shakes his head, his face returning to the usual indifferent expression.

"I heard a woman's voice," he states without emotion, still bowing his head down, not looking at her.

Keisha bites on her lower lip, not wanting to acknowledge the situation that might be brewing. It's against regulation to tell patients anything. The station could blow and _still_ she'd be required to remain silent, that's how confidential it has to be. Damn Phooka.

"It must've been me," she lies. A goofy smile forms on her lips. "Yeah. I like to… talk a lot to myself, you know?"

The blond man looks up, immediately stabbing his eyes against hers. Probing. It's obvious that he can see through her like a window, maybe even more. Those eyes… Keisha ponders. Sure, he might look young. He's, what, somewhere in his twenties? But those eyes… those are an old man's eyes that have seen a lot in their day. Who knows how much? Strangely enough, however, Hicks doesn't do a thing. He doesn't give her the rage he gave to Hikahi and Isis earlier on. He's quiet. Stone. Either he's too tired to say anything, or he already has found another weakness to her: a guilty conscience.

He finally lies back down, staring up at the ceiling but not really looking at it.

"Where are you?" Keisha finds herself asking, not understanding how this question slipped through her lips.

"I'm home. I'm where no one can touch me. I'm back with my squad before…" he stops himself, not going any further.

_'Squad'_? Keisha blinks. 'Squad. As in, military 'squad'. Oh – yes... _NOW_ she remembers. She's heard Hikahi and Isis address their patient as 'Corporal' several times, and yet she still managed to ignore the fact up to this day... the fact that he's a soldier. One of _them_. Maybe because thinking about it... would've brought back the pain... like right now. Funny how her mind could have been that selective in remembering. They didn't tell her an awful lot about her patient, but now she hears it ringing in her ears again how Isis addressed him as 'Corporal Hicks' when she first woke him... and how mad Hikahi got with her for being so official with a man who had avoided death by the skin of his teeth. Her patient she's been caring about so much - he's a soldier. Time to finally face it.

Keisha takes a seat next to him, carefully lifting up the chair and setting it down so that it won't scrape the floor. Hikahi, after all, wants his department cleaned and nourished. Not scraped or trashed up. Otherwise, he'll probably make her clean up the entire sector like he did last time when she accidentally spilled coffee all over the medical instruments. Jerk. It wasn't her fault. First day here on the job and she was _bound_ to have her first screw-up, right?

The room becomes silent as Keisha continues saying the word 'squad' in her mind. A part of her grows numb just thinking of that small and simple word. Her hands shake a little. Squad. No, she demands, don't think of that word. Think of something else. Don't think of the things associated with that word. It'll make you go nuts.

Keisha inhales sharply and slowly throws back her head, gazing up at the lights on the ceiling. Whatever caused the Emergency System to activate it must be big. The blue lights are still on. The doors are still sealed. And she's pretty sure that if she left the oval monitor on, it'd still be flashing black and red. Dead.

She closes her eyes for a moment, moving uncomfortably in her seat, hugging herself with her slender arms. She tries not to think of all the images that are associated with 'squad' but even the light blue color is depressing. The walls in the room aren't helping either. They're so plain and lifeless that the blue hue bounces off of it, bending and reflecting onto other things, overall creating the illusion that this room is an endless abyss to nowhere. It's horrible. It's just so horrible.

A guinea pig, that's how she feels right now. She's a guinea pig stuck in a maze that happens to be called a name and placed of the highest prestige. The smell of 'decay' from this endless labyrinth is overbearing too. She can literally sniff it every time she ventures out, inhaling a sense of ugliness and inhumanity. A person can go nuts here, suffering from what some like to call cabin fever. Lord, she hopes these confused thoughts she has aren't its first symptoms!

Her arms hug her tighter, comforting but suffocating her all at the same time. It's strange though, Keisha ponders absently. It's strange that she feels that while everything is still in place and everyone is still the same… some kind of _change _has happened here. She can feel it, even have it at the tip of her tongue. She can't find a name for it. She can't pinpoint this change. And yet, it's here. Somewhere in this station, something has stirred from its slumber, waiting for its introduction. Can this be a good thing or a bad thing? She doesn't know.

The young nurse glances back at Hicks who's still observing the plain wall above his head, his eyes not even blinking. His face is still, like a river put to a halt. The river is empty and it doesn't move. It's just there. He probably feels like a guinea pig too, Keisha concludes rather sadly. In fact, his question on why Hikahi saved him has crossed her mind several times just as well. It's not like she didn't want him to be saved. If she had the same talent Hikahi has, she'd be all over the universe, healing as many people as she could. _Saving_ them. But why? She wonders. Why go through all this trouble for just _one man_?Why did Hikahi agree to devote his entire attention to a man that doesn't appear any different than the men in this station? Even Isis was here, showing great (well, _somewhat_, great) interest in Hicks. There has to be something, some sort of link to this question.

Keisha pulls her gaze away from Hicks, trying not to think of that word 'squad' again. She sits further into her seat and pulls her knees up, underneath her chin. It's now that she feels very lonely. Without this man beside her, a man she still hasn't figured out quite yet and who muttered that awful 'squad' word moments ago, she'd be all alone by herself. Alone…

Alone. Keisha closes her eyes; trying hard not to remember the last time she was alone and first heard the term 'squad'. She tries hard not to see that little black girl with matted dreadlocks, eyes as huge as a bird. A girl that was once a small version of herself. She's screaming and crying right now in her mind. Alone. Afraid. Angry. Her cheeks are puffy from all the crying and her full brown lips quiver. Mouth opened, wet. Hands covering her ears to block out the gunfire surrounding her.

_'Squad'…_

Keisha swallows hard, feeling violated as a part of a memory tries to rape her brain, consuming it with painful images and thoughts. All of them playing in slow motion. Yelling. Terror. Suffering. Loneliness. _'Squad'._

Having enough of it, Keisha decides to open her eyes, as if to eject the movie from her mind. She knows that the memory will come to stalk her at a later time. The word, too. Probably tomorrow, maybe even tonight it'll nag at her. But she can't bear to go into any of those things right now. It's just… too painful.

Opening her eyes, she expects to see everything as she left it. To her surprise, however, a change _has _come. The moment she opens her eyes she finds Hicks staring right back at her. His eyes revealing _something _in them right now. Even though his face remains hard like a stone wall, something is finally showing in those old eyes of his. The river is starting to move, even if there remains a type of resistance from the currents.

She's surprised. Did… did he see her painful expression? Did he actually catch her off guard while her mind was running amuck? Did he… actually see that little black girl with matted dreadlocks? Screaming? Terrified? Did he see her too?

Hicks shifts his attention back up to the ceiling. His face returns to its usual, flat posture. He blinks indifferently. Keisha finds herself almost smiling, despite this odd behavior. Keisha smiles because she realizes that she, _too_, caught him off guard. She almost saw a concerned human being behind those old eyes. Could it be all a show then? Could there be a living, breathing man behind this rock?

The doors remain locked. The lights remain blue. And somewhere in this station, a sense of horror is happening. And yet, it doesn't matter to her anymore. A change is coming. Even though she can't quite name it… it's here. With her.

Suddenly, Keisha doesn't feel so scared anymore.

* * *

**CONFERENCE ROOM, Phooka Station **

"That's a pretty mean cappuccino you've got here. Another high-tech secret of your auto-chef, or is it just a special blend?" Rosselli looks up from his steaming porcelain cup, eyebrows raised in appreciation. I can tell he's still in a good mood, despite the meeting lasting for three hours already without an end in sight. His female partner, Fiona Vox, who's sitting to his right side at the table, cradling her round stomach, shows the strain of the high-intensity conference more clearly. She's looking pale, with a touch of gray, and her enervated frown at each question she doesn't deem absolutely necessary is a hint for us to step on it and not drag each subject on to eternity. Man, she's annoying! If she doesn't feel so hot, why is she here?

"It's a homegrown blend from our gardens," I answer the executive's question with a smile. What did Darwin say? Flirt with him? Keep him happy? Keep him from asking unwelcome questions? I can do that. After all, he's a not too bad-looking man: Somewhere in his 40's, dark hair with some dignified gray in-between and the classic features of a Roman statue. The dark, expensive suit compliments his trim body. He's also radiating the power he possesses without crossing the border into arrogance. Definitely interesting… but there's this bitchy partner of his, who also happens to be his fiancée… and very obviously pregnant, who's preventing me from intensifying this flirt. "The trees are imports from Brazil, Earth, genetically enhanced to make them grow faster and intensify the beans' flavor. And our processing methods are pretty unusual, too, and add to the flavor as well." My grin broadens together with Rosselli's. "I could tell you about it, but I'd have to kill you afterwards. It's the station's biggest secret."

"I bet!" he smirks and takes another swig.

"Just enjoy it while you're here, 'cause you won't get a better cappuccino in the whole wide universe."

He licks the cream off his lips and exchanges a glance with his pissy partner. I'm amused. Is she actually jealous?

"I'd sign that any time!" Swallowing, he adds: "I'm seriously thinking there's some money in this for the company. We should open Weyland Yutani coffee-shops galaxy-wide. We'd blast Starbuck's asses out of the water sky-high with this!"

"A coffee shop, huh?" I laugh. "Weyland Yutani – Building better worlds… and serving you the coffee of a lifetime. How's that?" He points his spoon at me, nodding.

"We'll do this, Isis! I'll be knocking at your door when the day comes. Remember my words!" Seeing Darwin return from the break she asked for fifteen minutes ago, he sighs. It's time for business again. I give him an approving smirk and return to my seat at the end of the long conference table to see my boss enter, Kurtz in her wake. Did they talk about last night? I know she was in his office prior to this meeting, but I can't tell for how long. Their faces don't tell me anything as they're making their way to their seats again. I observe my alter ego for a moment longer, still astonished she's looking like she does – highly awake and concentrated, her high-powered brain as capable as ever – despite last night. I guess she's helped it a bit with a little eye-opening cocktail of her own device straight into the vein, but still… there are no dark circles under her eyes, nothing indicates she just spent a night without sleep, faced the gruesome death of three people and got almost chopped up herself – both in the true sense of the word and later by Kurtz. Quite remarkable, really. Is she just pretending it doesn't bother her, or doesn't she care at all? Even to my almost infinite processing capabilities, she remains a mystery.

Getting the alien back into its cage was … complicated, to say the least. Darwin had been frightened for the first time since I've known her, which resulted in her constantly giving me 'good advice' and orders for each step of the way, until I found myself being more distracted by her voice – as I couldn't very well completely ignore her as I do with people of lesser power – than any other disturbance we encountered on our way to the Ivory Tower. To say we were 'happy' when the creature was back in its stasis-protected hive would be the understatement of the year.

I left Darwin in her office to ponder over her strategy with Kurtz to get some rest for the remaining three hours of the night… I was surprised to find I needed it. The day had been turbulent and hectic from the minute I had started in the morning. So I went home through the deserted corridors – and couldn't resist plugging into Phooka's system once more to get my message out to Rogue. The opportunity had been too good to let it pass. And when I finally got home… I found Alexander waiting for me. Or … not really. He was there, yes, but not waiting for me. His blood-shot eyes told me he was still on the retina-drug, and even if I hadn't seen them, his strange behavior was unmistakable. I remembered once again that Darwin told me to quit on him… but after that day, I just didn't have the energy left in me and just sank onto my side of the bed to stare at the ceiling and go on mental stand-by for 180 minutes.

"-t you're going to do with them?" Rosselli's voice wakes me from my unpleasant memories. He has both hands closed around his coffee-mug and looks at Darwin with an eager anticipation I can't help but feel uneasy about given the nightly events. "I mean, you showed us the photos, the videoclips… it's all looking as interesting as Carter Burke promised, but do you already know how you are going to proceed? What's your purpose with this project? We're talking BioWeapons here, aren't we?"

Darwin stands behind her chair with both hands on the back-rest and looks down on the mighty executive with the cool, professional look I'm familiar with.

"Yes, that's one of the options we're going to explore."

"One? What's the other?"

"The creature, as you have seen from the footage, seems to possess amazing regenerative powers," Kurtz replies, taking the words out of his young protégé's mouth. After all, this is going to be his part of the project. He should be the one who knows the most about it. "We cut them up, they bleed for a few seconds – and the cut will heal completely and without a trace within a minute at the most. We are planning on exploring just how far-reaching this potential is. The way it looks, we could very well be standing in front of an omnipotent cure for most known diseases like cancer… Parkinson… Collani's Syndrome… the Arcturian Fever…you name it."

I understand Kurtz's uncharacteristic excitement. After all, it's a well-known secret here on Phooka that he lost his entire family to Collani's syndrome, a deadly bone disease that plagues the population of his homeworld Antarius. But there are skeptical lines on Vox's brow.

"A cure for diseases as diverse as cancer and Arcturian Fever?"

"It's very possible. We're really just standing at the beginning of our research. As soon as we have a way of disabling the molecular acid the creatures have for blood, we'll be able to conduct extensive genetic research."

"Which-" Darwin injects, turning on her heel and strutting down the room in front of the screen, "- is also going to be one of our approaches for the BioWeapons project." Coming to a halt next to her female counterpart, she clears her throat and stabs her light-blue eyes against Vox's. "The first one will be the behavioral approach.-"

"Meaning?"

"We'll be working with the creatures and explore their capacity to be trained for military purposes."

The company representative utters a sarcastic laugh.

"You mean, you say "Bite!" – and they'll take off like guard dogs?"

Darwin remains calm.

"Essentially, yes. Of course we can already say with absolute clarity that the creature's capabilities are much greater than those of dogs. They've already shown substantial intelligence in many tests, and if I may remind you of the footage from the Sulaco's data-base, they've also shown remarkable skills with regards to strategic thinking. They are able to go through metal walls, they are just as adapted to water as to land, they are more cunning than any known predator… and their shape alone should be enough to put the fear of God into any potential enemy. Not to mention their relentless determination towards their prey."

Rosselli places his elbows onto the table and rests his chin on his hands, brown eyes keenly observing the young genius.

"What do you mean by 'substantial intelligence'? Like a dog? Human? Or…?" He lets the question stand in the room. Darwin folds her hands.

"No, Mr. Rosselli. Comparing them to dogs would be an insult. I'd say that we are dealing with an intelligence of at least – _at least_ – chimpanzee proportions here." She sees him inhale and looks satisfied. After all, she herself is not one to get all excited that easily. She wants Rosselli to understand what we might have in our hands here. "Right now, we are standing on the verge of starting a series of extensive genetic experiments with a number of specifically chosen test persons, each one offering a variety of vastly different character traits and bodily preferences. The only remaining obstacle so far is that we have yet to find a means of extracting their DNA without our instruments dissolving in their blood. We are on a good way towards solving this problem though, and the testing of the newly developed equipment will take place in the next few days, probably within the next week. I am very optimistic it will pass – and then we will get started on our main project."

"Just one question…" The executive has folded his hands on the table and presses his thumbs together, not looking at the scientist.

"Yes?"

"How do you intend to keep the xenomorphs in check once you dumped them onto some unsuspecting enemy troops? Even provided you can train them so far that you feel comfortable using them… you know, there are even accidents with circus lions and tigers, or dogs, animals which have been trained for entertainment and work for hundreds of years. Say they follow your orders to the point where you let them loose against the enemy… and they escape. How are you going to deal with them? What is your backup in that case? You can't very well run the risk of endangering the entire planet with a plague of these things."

"You are perfectly right." She remains calm. "I actually thought of that. We are planning to build a genetic weakness into them. Make them dependent on an enzyme, hormone, or whatever it is they need to live. We are going to define it as soon as we've got the equipment for it. Their bodies will then be programmed to not be able to produce the substance by itself. They will depend on us to supply it to them, and if they decide to run from us, they are going to die within, let's say, a time span of 48 hours." She props her hands against her hips and waits for Rosselli's approving nod, before she turns her back on us again and lifts her eyes towards the plasma screen, which now shows a picture of Raven staring indifferently into the camera. I turn my head slightly to watch for reactions on the two executives' faces. Have they heard of the killer? Even if not – the psycho's image should be enough to provoke a reaction – all his cruelty and brutality is plainly visible on his face as he gives the camera a derogatory smirk now. The two remain calm, but I see Rosselli slightly lift one eyebrow, seemingly impressed by the mountain of muscle.

"Again we are following two different paths with our genetic program. The test person you're seeing here was selected for his impressive physique and natural aggressiveness. He is a convicted serial killer with the reputation of being a beast in a human body and a record of 123 confirmed murders, possibly more. He already _is_ able to literally go through walls. Our psychological evaluation detected a total lack of morals, ethics or any capacity for compassion or regret. The interesting thing is that – while his behavior would lead the observer to the conclusion that the person must be a schizophrenic – he doesn't appear to suffer from any mental disease at all. Quite possibly we are dealing with a man here who is as normal as you or I – except that his hobby – or rather sport – is to kill people. His record reveals that while there had been a few women among his victims, he has a distinct preference for strong, capable men in their prime. You probably heard of Collin Jefferson, the star of "Modern Gladiators"…"

Rosselli straightens in his seat.

"Indeed. The case had been covered by the media throughout the Northern Territories! I –" His eyes grow large in understanding. "You mean…" a short nod towards the image on the screen "that guy killed him? Damn! I've seen him fight myself! That man was invincible! A mountain!" He stares at Raven, incredulous. "Wow! How did you get a hold of him?" His partner doesn't look as enthusiastic as she grabs his hand now.

"He sat in a death cell on Beringh II and was awaiting his execution. We just played a few cards right and bought him out."

The woman at Rosselli's side narrows her eyes.

"And what exactly are you planning to do with him? You say you'll use him for genetic tests. How? What are you aiming at with him?"

Darwin folds her arms and glances up at Raven's now frozen image.

"He is supposed to be the design for a human warrior who can be dropped into hostile territory and decimate the enemy with a combination of human wits and animal ferocity. We don't aim at making him controllable, since the object of any such mission will most likely be terminated by the enemy sooner or later anyway. I'd define him as a human bomb. If we are successful with this, it would open a path for us to bring convicted and sentenced murderers to good use for the community instead of simply disposing of them."

'Wow!' I think, outwardly keeping a straight face. My CPU tells me that Darwin must be one of the most unethical people in the entire civilized universe. They'd _burn _her for this line of reasoning back on Mother Earth! I'm curious to hear the couple's reaction to that and don't have to wait another second for it. Santiago Rosselli's handsome face is wearing an expression of amused disbelief as he leans forward onto the table.

"This is about the most radical suggestion I've ever heard, I believe!"

"Yeah, well…" Darwin shrugs, unfazed, "- isn't this why we built this station? To have a place where we could follow those radical suggestions without having to worry about the desk-jockeys and bureaucrats back home? I was under the impression that we're all here to find _new_ ways of approaching things." Her opposite raises his hands defensively.

"Wait! Stop! I didn't say that was a bad thing, did I?" They stare at each other, and the hard expression in my bosses eyes melts to an amused spark.

"No. You didn't."

"See?" Rosselli leans back and folds his well-manicured hands in the lap of his expensive designer-suit comfortably. His partner doesn't say anything, nor does her facial expression tell me what she's thinking. She rather appears to be … bored, actually. She's not even looking at us, but at her watch. "So, he's going to become a human bomb. I'm already feeling sorry for the poor guys who'll meet him. Interesting idea. The governments spent millions on accommodating this kind of human scum. It's about time they started giving us something back for that money!" He grins. "I like it. What else?"

Darwin raises the hand with the remote and clicks Raven away… to replace him with an archive photo of our Marine corporal. I remember it's from the USCM database and therefore downloaded it myself – but still I find myself looking in surprise at the image. The man on the picture doesn't seem to have a lot in common with the man we are nurturing back to health down in Sickbay. The man on the picture has an intense, questioning glance that seems to virtually pierce the screen. He looks capable, self-confident and like the elite soldier he is. Even though he's nowhere near as muscular as Raven, his broad shoulders and what can be seen of his upper arms and chest looks impressive enough… and stands in sharp contrast to the skinny, emaciated patient with the hollow, old eyes he is now. His hair is short and neatly cropped in the fashion of the USCM instead of unusually long and unkempt as it is now, and he is not wearing a beard. From the looks of it, he must have been grounded at Hadley's Hope for quite some time.

For the first time I find myself wondering what happened to him and his squad on Acheron… apart from the aliens. How come he's the only survivor… except for the girl? Was he smarter? Stronger? Faster? Or did he simply have more luck than his dead brothers in arms? If you can call it luck… after having heard Darwin's plan for Raven, I'm sure the one for him won't be much nicer.

"Our second test object is a former corporal with the USCM. He-"

"A 'former' corporal?" It's again Rosselli who injects that question. "Meaning what? He left them and applied here for an update? To become one of your 'human bombs'?"

"Hardly." Vox graces us with her attention for a brief moment to treat us to her sarcastic reply. Darwin nods at her skepticism.

"Let's say we… found him."

"Found him!" The company representative grins, incredulous. "Flying through space, waiting to get a lift to New Brisbane? Without his squad? I was under the impression that Colonial Marines go nowhere without their-"

"Are the circumstances of his ending up here important to you or would you rather like to hear about his place in our project?" Darwin's patience with Rosselli's playfulness just ended. I hope she doesn't cross the border and annoy him, because – even though the Elyseeum-born Weyland Yutani chairman has been in a good mood the entire morning – he has a reputation of being just as cold and ruthless as his young opposite. He must be, or he wouldn't have climbed up to the position he's holding now. In fact, the good-natured smile that's been sitting on his face up to now seems to crack a little, and there's definitely a warning spark in his brown eyes. He knows about Darwin's untouchable status, at the same time telling her without words he won't tolerate everything from her. And his fiancée looks even more furious. How dare that blonde bitch address her mighty man like that?

"And what _is_ his place in the project?" Rosselli inquires in a crisp tone. He's annoyed alright. But also pro enough to let her go on and not make a fuss… at least not yet. And my boss appears to have received his message, since she continues with a calmer voice, somehow acknowledging her screw-up by that. It's as close as she'll ever come to actually saying 'sorry'.

"The thing we want to accomplish with the corporal's help is a different one than the concept of a 'human bomb'. In contrast to the criminals we will be using for this part of the project, we are aware that the training and education of special forces soldiers is a costly and time-consuming enterprise, and it is desirable that the recipient should be able to make use of his skills repeatedly and not just once. So while the criminals will be developed as the 'ultimate assassin', the military branch of our research will be to create the 'ultimate soldier'."

Rosselli leans back again, folding his hands. He looks fascinated.

"We don't know yet what kind of special skills – except for their agility and ferocity and fast regenerative powers – the aliens possess, but since they don't have any visible eyes, ears or nose, we think it is safe to assume that they see their environment through a completely different set of senses than we do. The large head for example could be pointing towards something like the dolphin sonar system, but as this would all be nothing but speculation at this point, I don't want to waste your time reciting all of our assumptions now. Just imagine this: A super-soldier who would be able to navigate even in complete darkness or mist, able to scan his surroundings by sonar and infrared vision and detect an ambush by the electrical emissions of the weapons or pheromones of the waiting hostile soldiers. A soldier who would be virtually impossible to bring down in hand-to-hand combat, whose agility, strength and reflexes would be maybe 100 times faster than those of his opponents and who would be able to heal up within a minute whenever a shot actually found him, but with a human mind controlling all this power. A soldier, who would be able to communicate with his squad by means virtually impossible to detect by the enemy, safer than any code a computer or human could come up with." She makes a dramatic pause to let it sink in and raises her chin, looking down on the fascinated executive. "Do you see it?"

"Very clearly," he agrees, obviously intrigued by the idea, which Darwin takes as an invitation to go on. Turning her back on us again, she looks up to the picture of Dwayne Hicks, who's questioning stare appears to dare her to go on.

"The soldier we have in our hands seems to be ideal for the project for the following reasons: His record credits him with a reputation of being extremely calm and premeditated under fire. He is much-respected by his team members and has a good understanding of strategy and unnaturally acute instincts which – if we take the official reports at face value – enabled him and his squad to come out of some rather precarious situations unscathed – his survival as the only member of his team can be counted as proof of that. According to his squad leader he is definite future leadership material." She turns around again. "I would say this makes him a wonderful candidate for our genetic update. With his calm and rational mind, he should be able to handle everything which will accompany the change. Yes?" Rosselli has lifted his hand, as if he were in school.

"This all sounds very fascinating, Miss Darwin, even if it raises more questions than I could ask right now. I'm just wondering… will the man know about the experiment? Or are you going to use him as a lab rat? Strap him down, inject him with the stuff… and monitor the outcome? And if you do – don't you think he might get a tad uncooperative when he realizes what's happening to him? He could get dangerous."

"We _intend_ to make him dangerous, Mr. Rosselli," Darwin states plainly. "We also intend to make him controllable. And we do have our own subtle little ways of assuring us of his cooperation, don't worry." Another brief pause. At last, she pulls her chair back to join us at the conference table. "The main problem right now is that we will first have to build him up again. His condition when we found him was rather critical, and he has lost most of his strength. We are gradually nurturing him back to health right now, but even optimistically estimated, he won't be ready for 'Perfect Soldier' until eight to ten weeks from now. Which won't pose a problem since we are not in a hurry. Are we?"

"Of course not." Rosselli musters the picture for a few moments longer, before he turns his attention back to his partner, who is definitely looking gray now. "Fiona? You're not looking too good, if I may say so."

"I'm not feeling too good," she says, cradling her round stomach. "I'd like to get back to our room now. I mean, we are done here anyway, aren't we?"

"Yes, I believe we are," her future trophy husband states, satisfied. His gaze finds Kurtz's, mine, and then wanders to our female genius to see whether he's indeed right, getting the approving nod he's waiting for. I can tell Darwin would be glad if this would indeed be it. So far she's managed to steer away from any potentially dangerous questions that would force her to lie about last night's events. Thank God for pregnancy nausea, huh? I'm wondering though why she didn't mention the girl. After all, she's a piece of our genetic engineering puzzle, too. But okay, since she doesn't do anything without a reason, there must be one for her keeping the lid on this little piece of information, too.

We all get up, and Kurtz, ever the responsible and hospitable host, asks whether there is anything he can do for our prized guests. They leave the conference room ahead of us, while Darwin's still busy – or pretends to be busy – collecting her files and turning off the multimedia show we put on for them.

"Miss Darwin?" Rosselli's stopped and looks back at us questioningly. "We're going to leave again this afternoon. Are we going to see you before that?"

"Sure," she replies. "I will be at the dock. See that you get some rest until then."

"Okay… we'll see you then." They follow Kurtz through Phooka's labyrinth of corridors and leave us alone. My boss pauses and looks up from the pile of files she's collected from around the table, exhaling deeply. Her eyes find me, and I see relief in them. So she _has_ been worrying. "That went rather well, Isis, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yup," I do. "He was quite the happy camper today, wasn't he? Must have been the cappuccino."

"You didn't spike it, did you?" she grins.

"It doesn't need spiking. It's perfect. And I gave it my best try to follow your orders and wrap him a bit around our fingers." Her facial expression grows solemn, and I ask myself whether I said something wrong.

"Yeah… you were quite good at it…" Her gaze seems to go right through me for a long, uncomfortable moment where I don't know what she's thinking of. Then a slight smile starts spreading over her small lips, and I can tell another one of her marvelous ideas has hit when she wakes from her thoughtfulness to acknowledge my presence again. "You know, we could put this to good use…"

"Put what to good use?" I ask, alarmed. "I'm not going to be Phooka's official flirting machine from now on. Amazingly enough, she laughs.

"What a shame! Rosselli was practically drooling all over you!" I start to object, but she won't have it. "No, no… know what we do?"

"Regarding what?" I sit my behind down on the table.

"Our wonderful, priceless Marine Corporal…" she nods into the general direction of the plasma screen. "Rosselli's right: He'll hate our guts as soon as we get started on him. Maybe even earlier given your reports. He's equating us with Carter Burke. Burke screwed him and his squad, and since we're also company representatives, he expects us to screw him as well. Which we'll do… It will be hard getting his cooperation… We can probably do without it to a certain degree, inject him with the stuff and the likes, but to fully know what's going on in him – apart from what the PDT will show – we need for him to tell us."

"And so we do what?" I still can't see where she's going with this. The cryptic smile's back on her lips as she looks at me with renewed interest.

"We'll build you up as his confidante."

_"Excuse me?"_ My tone should tell her I'm _not_ amused, but she's excited now, and I know whatever I'm going to bring up against her idea, she won't care. Things always go her way, period. Her smile broadens into a full-fledged grin as she grows increasingly more excited with what her one-of-a-kind-mind has come up with.

"Human's are simple, Isis," she starts pitching her idea to me. "They have certain … needs… that need to be fulfilled, especially people who have been in tough situations… like our Corporal. He's the sole survivor of his squad. He's feeling lonely… and after what Burke did to him, he's highly suspicious of us and suspects some shit is going to happen to him."

"He got that right."

"Yes, he does. And he'll clam up and not give us anything as soon as we're starting to cause him grief… But he'll still be lonely. And he'll need to unload some of the shit, or he'll go nuts. Don't look at me like that, Isis, just believe me. Humans are like that. They need each other. They need someone to share their life with. Someone to bond with… to have a secret with, especially if they find themselves in a bad situation. And you are going to be the one he'll spill his secrets to."

"Really?" I lift my eyebrows skeptically. "I was rather under the impression he doesn't like me. How are we going to turn me into his best friend? Brainwash him?"

She has the answer ready.

"By putting you onto the same level. By making you an outcast." I can tell I'm going _to love_ this plan…! Darwin takes my dubious silence as an invitation to go into detail. "If we start discriminating you for being 'just a dumb machine', we might be able to build you up as a trustworthy person for him. His file says he's been around synthetics throughout his military career and never had any problems with them. He might just take your side, simply because he can relate… and it'll make the situation easier to bear for him if he has someone to share his hatred for us… What?"

Oh, so she _did _notice my 'enthusiastic' expression!

"I don't know…"

"But I do, Isis," she beams, an alien sight even to me. "I know this will work. We just have to play our roles well, and he'll swallow it hook, line and sinker."

"I'm not the most compassionate one," I'm still very dubious. "I don't know how-" She waves me off.

"Oh, come on, Isis! You are even smarter than me! Surely you must be able to grasp the concept of compassion, or at least to fake it. All you need to change is tell this man how poor he his, how much you wish he'd be able to go home or were better, and how much you feel for him. Keep your tongue in check and he'd think you'd be but a little assistant instead of a super genius. Just think everybody's above you and authorized to give you orders. And that you're going to pay for it as soon as you utter a single syllable of a complaint. What's so hard to understand about that?"

"I don't like it."

At last, her smile's dropping from her face and the earnest expression she's usually wearing is back.

"You are not supposed to, Isis. This is work. It's a requirement for our project to get the results we are striving for. Your nature makes you ideal for this task. You _are_ up to this, and you _will_ do it. Do we have an understanding?"

For the first time since I've known her (seems there are many 'first times' today), I'm angry at her. She's playing 'big boss' with me. Looks as if she's already started to act on her idea. I wanted to ask her about her conversation with Kurtz prior to the meeting, but right now I don't feel like it at all. Bad timing. She's the Ice Queen now, and her glance that's mustering me is nothing but frosty as she waits for my answer. I swallow what I want to say. Nothing I could say could possibly change her mind, so I give her the curt nod she demands.

"Good." She picks up the files and prepares to leave the room. Taking a last look around, she sees the left cups on the table. "Could you please put those into the kitchen and clean the table afterwards? Thanks." She disappears, leaving me, ready to burst.

* * *

**Hadley's Hope – Day 6 – 1700 hours**

He's standing at the door to Operations, the bag in his left hand, lit cigarette in his right hand, wondering whether he should really intersperse with this. Two days ago it had felt like a good idea to him. Heck, even plausible. Lighten up the mood, rip them out of their stupor and gloomy thoughts and maybe even put a smile on their faces for a moment or two, right? Even if he didn't feel so himself. Even with Apone's dying voice playing in his head in an endless loop… or the knowledge that there's only the ridiculous amount of 10 (!) grenades separating them from the most horrible death one could envision. He lets the smoke out, slowly, seeing it trail off into the room lazily. Fact is, they need to forget about this for a while – urgently. Or they'll all go crazy. He's doing the right thing, even though he knows they'll probably look at him at first as if he announced the aliens had issued an official report saying they all converted to vegetarianism from this day on. They're going to think the constant stress made him lose his marbles. Whatever. No pain, no gain, right? He lifts the hand with the almost burnt-down cigarette and throws it onto the floor, grinding his heel on it to put it out... and gives himself a mental kick to proceed.

Vasquez is the only one who turns her head when she hears him enter, and from the way her eyes wander down to the bag he's carrying and back to his face with a knowing smirk, he can tell she still approves of what he's trying to do here. So he plunges ahead. '_Go on, soldier! Make an idiot of_ _yourself!"_

"Anybody check the date today?" he inquires, coming to a halt in the middle of the room. Bewildered, uninterested faces wherever he looks. "Nobody?"

"Huh? What?" Hudson barely pauses to look up from the dog-eared, stained magazine he found somewhere in the back. "Why? Is it your birthday or what? I know it ain't Independence Day – we've already had the fireworks."

His sarcastic reply is funny enough to send a brief smile across his superior's face, a nice contrast to the earnest and concerned expression the Corporal has been carrying around for the past days.

"Yeah, it's December, right?" Hicks tilts his head to meet Vasquez' dark eyes. He's glad she's helping him out here by playing along. "Must be. Ain't easy keeping up with time when you're constantly in and out of hypersleep, but we departed at the end of November. Let's see, three weeks in deep-freeze... plus one week in this rat hole makes it... oh no... You don't mean-"

"Yup. December 25th. That's today."

"Great," Hudson grumbles, without looking up this time. "Did the aliens propose a cease-fire for the holidays or what's the big deal?"

"Hudson –" Hicks inhales deeply, and it becomes half a sigh, "as a personal favor for me on Christmas: would you stop that motormouth of yours for a few minutes, please? You're killing my Christmas spirit, and I get cranky when that happens." They glare at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment, until – there is this twitching at the corners of his mouth suddenly, which Hicks finds impossible to ignore. It soon turns into a broad grin, which his teammate shares. "Damn Will, you're still the comedian around here, huh?"

Hudson shrugs, tongue-in-cheek, satisfied with the results of his remark.

"Hey, that's why I was assigned to this outfit, remember? I'm the 'Entertainment Officer'."

Now they're actually laughing. Hicks shakes his head to himself, still smiling and grateful for the little spark of optimism. By God, they need it!

"Okay, I agree, you're doing a pretty good job. But can I have a few secs for my announcement now without you making a joke of it?"

"Hey, suit yourself, Hicks. I just thought Christmas is such a ridiculous thing in our position, I couldn't resist."

Hicks settles down in one of the chairs and puts the big bag he has been carrying around on the ground between his feet. The faint trace of a smile is still on his lips, even though Hudson's last remark angered him. 'Ridiculous', huh? He's making a fool of himself here in an attempt to improve the general mood and to keep the others in good spirit. He usually isn't the guy to step out into the limelight and entertain the others, and damn Will for not sensing what he's trying to achieve here. They need something positive. They need it bad, and even if a few laughs will be all he gets in the end, it will definitely be better than to just keep everybody brooding over their sinister thoughts.

"So, it's Christmas time indeed. But don't be afraid. I won't ask anybody to sing,although I know that Vasquez here has a great voice once she decides to put aside her 'macha' attitude and behave like a female."

"How would you know?" the Mexican smartgun operator grins. "You've never heard me sing."

"Wanna bet?" Hicks smirks cryptically.. "You know how many times I felt I was completely alone, just to find out later that someone was watching my every move?"

"You mean the walls have ears?"

"They definitely do..." They smile at each other, then Hicks reaches down to the large, bulky bag, which Vasquez immediately recognizes as the one he took with him the other night. "However, if anyone feels an unstoppable urge to sing or tap-dance or recite a poem for us or whatever, I won't intervene. Anybody...?" He looks up briefly, his hands already busy opening the mysterious bag.

"Okay... Then let's go on with the show. I know you're all anxious to know what I've got here, right?" His hand comes out with a small package. "With the exception of one thing, everything I got here is meant for us all. Just some small things to make life a little nicer for the next week. You'll have to forgive me for the sloppy presentation though, as I couldn't find any wrapping paper. I hope you won't hold this against me." He throws the package towards Vasquez, who catches it by reflex. A deck of cards. She grins, delighted.

"Anti-boredom-medication? Good thinking, boss. Thanks a lot."

Hicks cocks an eyebrow in appreciation and digs something new out of the bag, this time handing it over to Gorman.

"Lieutenant?"

"What is it?" Ripley asks curiously. He holds it up.

"Coffee."

"Real coffee," Hicks adds. "Not this vile stuff Weyland Yutani serves." His gaze glides over his companions and stops at Burke, who – as usual – doesn't let the challenge gounanswered.

"Corporal, you know full well that real coffee is a luxury we cannot afford. It's too expensiveto-"

"- to be wasted on simple terraformers? Normal people? Anyone not on Weyland Yutani's list of V.I.P.s?" Hicks smiles acidly. "That's weird. I always believed the company to be filthy rich." He doesn't wait for Burke's reply to dig up two more pounds of coffee and press one of the vacuum-sealed packages into the company rep's reluctant hands. "Since you sound as if you poor Weyland Yutani executives usually live on water and dry bread alone, I'm inviting you to a real treat. Here you go. Enjoy." Ignoring the sinister glance Burke awards him with, he passes on the other package to Ripley.

"And that's yours."

"Thanks..." She hesitates, but then decides to continue nevertheless. She needs to know. "Where did you find all this? It sure as hell wasn't in the perimeter."

There it is. The question he's been afraid to hear... and of course it's her who utters it. But maybe there's still a chance to get around it.

"You don't ask Santa where he gets his gifts."

"You've been outside, haven't you?" Heads turn, and all of a sudden Hicks finds himself the object of interest for six inquiring pairs of eyes. "You risked your life, just for this?" He inhales deeply and looks over to Vasquez, the only one who knows for sure. The Mexican shrugs, and he switches his attention back to Ripley. His voice grows serious; with an edge to it she can't miss.

"It wasn't the initial reason for going out. I'm not stupid, and I'm not into suicide either, even if having enlisted in the USCM might count as proof of that for some people. I had to check on the circuits in C-Block anyway since we had a malfunction on one of the cameras, and I just sort of kept my eyes open while I did that. That's all there is to it. No reason to get all excited."

But she isn't satisfied.

"Something could have happened. We cannot afford to lose our team leader."

"Oh yeah?" Hicks is rapidly getting pissed off now. No way of hiding it anymore. Who does she think she is to question him openly in front of the others? "Who then? Who can we afford to lose? Hudson? Vasquez? Or Bishop, since he's '_just a machine'_?" He realizes he's raised his voice and struggles to calm down again with a deep breath.

"Listen, Ripley, I can assure you I'm very aware of my responsibilities, and I won't take unnecessary risks, but I sure as hell won't hole up in here for the next two weeks and play dead. It was my decision to leave the perimeter, and it was completely asked for. We need those monitors to work, so I got the job done." He doesn't flinch from her scrutinizing stare, but his Christmas spirit has departed for good. Wonderful. Try to improve the mood, and this is what you get! Nice going, he thinks angrily.

"Dwayne? Dwayne…"

It's a strange voice that's calling him. Strange, because it doesn't seem to belong to anyone in the room. It's unmistakably female, but neither Vasquez nor Ripley nor Newt. So who – Somewhere in his subconscience, a switch gets turned and a reality check tells him he must be dreaming. The realization makes him wake at once and causes him to stare in profound confusion into the young, colored face of Keisha he's familiar with by now.

"Huh?" Still drowsy, his vocal cords refuse to work, and he breaks into a cough.

"Hey… easy there!" A glass enters his line of vision. "Need a drink?"

He takes it and downs the almost tasteless liquid with three quick gulps. Finally, the coughing subsides and he's able to concentrate on his visitor as she asks him: "I'm sorry for waking you, but we've got to start on making you feel better. Like, I'm sure you're sick and tired of all this stuff here hanging by your side, right?" She points at the IV-lines.

"Yeah…" So?

She lights up, even if he doesn't sound as enthusiastic as she had hoped for. His voice is as flat and lifeless as before. Inwardly sighing, she asks herself silently whether her patient will ever warm up to her. She's trying so hard to make him comfortable!

"So, what would you say if we'd take them out today? What does your stomach say, Dwayne? Do you feel up to trying something more solid than the stuff we've been feeding you for the past weeks? We've got to get you accustomed to eating again, you know? It's so much better than this liquid stuff!"

His face gets this stone-set look again that's telling her he doesn't appreciate her efforts of improving his mood even the least bit. It's that angry, defensive look, that "Come any closer and I bite!" look she only knows from dogs. Sadly, she recognizes he's still seeing her as the enemy. He doesn't make any difference between Isis, Hikahi or her, probably even feels patronized by her. Well, but at least he's stretching his neck a bit in an attempt to check out the small white bowl she's got in her hand. Got to be thankful for even the smallest steps, she thinks. He's unlikely to fall into her arms in the near future.

"What is it?"

She smiles at his obvious dismay and sits down on his bed, taking a spoon and the bowl to hold it right under Hicks' nose. Its smell does nothing for his appetite. Artificial, if anything. Likewise its appearance: a creamy yellow glob that looks like molten plastic. His stomach heaves even at the sight of this.

"Protein, vitamins, minerals... it's probably the healthiest stuff you'll ever get to eat. It's also got tons of calories." She smiles at him. "You need to regain some strength, and as I am sure your stomach will take a while until it'll let you eat decent portions again, we've got to outsmart it." He's still looking appalled. "Hey, I know it looks like a glob of paint, but it actually tastes pretty good... I even brought you my favorite flavor, see?" She puts the spoon in her mouth and closes her eyes. "Mmmm... vanilla!"

He doesn't smile with her. Even if she seems innocent enough – heck, what evil could she really have done in those 16 or 17 years of her life? – she's Weyland Yutani staff, and he can't help but feel threatened. But still, he considers. He _must_ start eating again if he ever wants to get out of this depressing room, even if he's still half inside that dream, or rather, his memories, and doesn't feel hungry at all. Also, it's the first time that the nausea that's been plaguing him has dissipated to an endurable level, and he's not intend on inviting it back. Truth is, right now, eating's probably the last thing on his mind - but still ... he's got to get some flesh onto his bones again, right? He hates his current weakness, hates the feeling of not being in control of his body, of how it betrays him every time he even tries to sit up, and he hates to lie around here, wasting the days and nights away feeling like a turtle some cruel child has turned onto its back. Yeah, he wants that feeling gone… even if what will happen once he's his old self again is not clear.

"I don't know…"

"Just try it," she encourages him, offering him a new spoon. "You'll like it. I'm sure. Wait a moment, I'll help you sit. Here." She puts the bowls into his hands.

Somehow, even though he's fighting it, Hicks feels just the slightest smile tug at the corners of his mouth while the young nurse bends forward to get the remote for his bed and raises the head end. He doesn't want it to show, dammit, but she's just so intend on cheering him up…! A little wooziness overcomes him as soon as he sits, and he tries to blink it away, when something on the table to his left catches his attention, a curious red glow which doesn't seem to belong here.

He pauses, not sure what to think of what his eyes show him. It's surreal. Utterly confused, he tries to blink it away, too. Just what the heck is in those IV packages they gave him? He must be hallucinating! Hell, he's been in a coma for the past three weeks, he's still drugged and probably stoned for the next three weeks to come – but still, the thing on the table stubbornly refuses to disappear, however hard he squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again: a forty centimeter tall ... illuminated...Santa Claus! A white and red assault on his taste too psychedelic to be real – but reminding him vividly of the scene he just remembered in his sleep. Christmas… the last – rotten – Christmas with his squad, something he doesn't want to think of _at all_! His perplexity is so obvious, his caretaker's feeling inclined to explain the strange sight to him.

"I know it's tacky, but this room is just so depressing and sterile and..." Keisha shrugs, looking a bit abashed. "I just thought it might lighten up your spirits, even though it's been a while since Christmas. Make ya smile, ya know?" He's still staring at the statue, obviously far away in his mind. When he finally shifts his attention back at her, it's looking like he's waking from some kind of unpleasant dream, and she feels regretful. "Then again... do you want me to put it away?"

"Yes." Stirring with the spoon in the yellow glob of whatever-it-is, he hears himself. His harsh tone. Second thoughts make him add a lighter "Please", which takes the edge of his reply a bit. Inhaling deeply, he tastes the first spoon of paint, expecting his stomach to outright reject the stuff. He feels it heave even as he's still pushing it around in his mouth without swallowing. His caretaker can't help but laugh at his skeptic face.

"You don't like it, huh? Just wait a few moments. It'll grow on you." She holds up the remote she used to change the bed's position. "I've also got something else for you here. We didn't use it these past days since you appeared to have problems in differentiating between Illuso and reality, but since we're quitting the drugs now, you might as well have it back. I programmed some of them myself. Like this!" She pushes a button, and suddenly they are surrounded by a lush tropical rainforest. Keisha smiles and holds out her hand to let a virtual hummingbird land on it. "What do you think?"

"Nice." His flat voice indicates he couldn't care less, as he shovels another spoon of glob into his mouth. It's really not so bad after all. Certainly not Haute Cuisine, but eatable… A moment later, a red and white striped dragonfish swims into his line of vision, as he finds himself on top of a coral reef brimming with life. A swarm of little silvery fish dances around his head, and he has to close his eyes as he feels his balance go.

"I'm sorry," he hears Keisha's apologetic voice, and the next moment all the exotic noises are gone, telling him she switched the illuso off. He blinks. Yeah, it's gone alright. "You got problems with this?"

"Uh-huh." His vision's still a bit shaky. It's a somewhat unsettling experience for him to be so sensible to everyday features all of a sudden. Letting the bowl sink, he waits for the nausea to ebb. His appetite has left for good. "How long will it go on like this?"

"The readjustment problems?" He nods, holding on to the edge of his mattress, afraid to fall. "It depends. It differs from person to person. – You done with that?" She takes the bowl out of his hand. "But you've been greatly improving over the last few days. I'm sure you'll soon be over it. See, you already managed to eat some. That's real improvement!"

"Whoopee…" Finally his sight stumbles back into focus, and he sees her frown, accompanied by a deep, audible sigh.

"I don't get it, Dwayne... just why are you so unfriendly to me?" she complains, sadly, but for the first time with an edge to her voice that surprises Hicks. "What did I do to you?"

He furrows his brow at her question, but before he can even think of an answer, she continues, anger raising her voice.

"You've been nothing but scoffing at me since you woke! Now I understand you went through some hard times and therefore don't trust us. I understand you lost people you cared for, but that's all no excuse for being rude – at least not towards me! I've been pulling double-shifts ever since they brought you here! I lost quite some sleep over your wellbeing! I'm trying to cheer you up, you bark at me. I'm being friendly, you bark at me or ignore me. Isis is right: You _are_ ungrateful!"

She glares at him, and her face looks flushed as if all the blood in her body accumulated in her head. The sudden explosion of temperament from the always shy and quiet girl leaves the Marine speechless – and – to his surprise - feeling somewhat guilty – for a moment during which they just stare at each other. She's out of breath and obviously just as surprised about that burst of emotion as the object of her anger. The realization about what she just said slowly starts to seep into her awareness.

"I…. I'm sorry," she stammers, not knowing what come over her. "I had no right- "

He raises his hand.

"No. No… you're right." He can't believe hearing his own voice say this. But the truth is – he does feel kinda sorry. He's not usually like that. And yes, he has noticed how much effort the youth has been putting into helping him with both the burden of his loss and his injury. Her sympathy for him appears to be genuine and not manufactured, as he could see in her face just the night before when he had caught her off guard, the shadow of painful memories all to visible on her usually cheerful, sweet face. So even if he wants to see everybody on this station as the enemy – she's not. She's just a teenager. And somehow, she seems to be able to relate to his gloomy state of mind.

He swallows. It's never easy saying what he has to say.

"I'm being an ass. I'm sorry." His fingers work the fabric of the blanket without him being aware of it. "I didn't mean to…" He inhales heavily, and his green eyes meet hers in an honestly apologetic glance. "I'm not usually like this. It's just…" an all-encompassing gesture "-the circumstances." He shrugs helplessly, at a loss for the right words, and winces at the slight stab of pain through his neck and right shoulder blade. "I'm sorry, really. You probably don't deserve this… it's just…"

Now it's on her to smile.

"It's okay. You don't have to explain. I understand you're going through some hard times. I just… I just want you to know that – even though I don't know about Dr. Hikahi and Isis – you can trust me. I'm not the enemy, Dwayne… I just want to help you. I'm but a little nurse." Oh Lord, she's feeling sheepish now. If that didn't sound corny! But – surprisingly – he smiles back, just the slightest bit, causing her heart to jump with excitement. She can't know she just uttered his thoughts out loud. Can it be the ice has finally melted?

"Maybe… we got off on the wrong foot," Hicks concludes quietly, still feeling uncomfortable. It's so much easier barking at everyone for causing him grief. Differentiating between people will only complicate things.

"Tell you what," Keisha suggest with a wink. "How about we forget about this and start from scratch? Like, I'm ridding you of those darn annoying IV-lines, you say 'Thank you, Keisha'… and then you take all your courage and eat the rest of the luxurious meal I brought you…. and if you're feeling up to it later, we could give it a first try at putting you on your two feet again. What do you say?"

That slight smile is still on his face. She's easy to apologize to. She's eager to forget. Maybe he's really going to feel better if he accepts her help. He gives her a little, approving nod.

"Sounds good."

* * *

**Hadley's Hope – Day 6 – 1800 hours**

Hicks watches the monitors absently. Soon, his eyes itch after staring at the brightness illuminating from the screens for too long. When he looks away he sees dark dots all over his line of vision, small and many. The exhausted Corporal shuts his eyes tightly, rubbing them with his hands' palms to make the annoying throbbing pain go away. Lord, he's be sitting here for nearly two hours. Watching. Waiting. Anxious. He doesn't know exactly _what_ he's waiting for. Maybe it's for a sign, maybe of some kind of hope. Perhaps somewhere along the way, some unexpected thing will happen that'll change the way things are headed for. Yeah. Right… like this is the type of place to dream? Hope. Kinda funny that this is the name of colony. Hadley's Hope. Sheeit, Hadley's Hell is more like it.

He softly groans and shifts his weight against his seat, slumping. His back and ass hurt like hell, fed up with just staying here. You see? This is the reason why he chose grunt work than be one of those stuck-up Lieutenants. Sure, he's got the talents and right stuff to push up a rank or two. Hell, he'd probably big a top guy like the Sarge - '_Apone… better not to think of him right now_'. But he can't stand the idea of the sitting and bossing 'round, sitting on his ass all day long ordering so-and-so to carry this-and-that. And then dealing with jerks like Burke all day long who think, because the pen is mightier than the sword, that he can be bribed. Fucking desktop jocks. Give 'em a thousand credits and they'll ask you how far do you want them to jump.

For a second, Hicks thinks of getting up to stretch. At least, to get his legs some circulation and arms moving again. But the fear of letting his guard down just for one second creeps up to him, gnawing at him like the mice chewing on the ceiling's walls. Messing up here can mean Armageddon. Probably worse than even that. No, he isn't going to fuck around with these bastards. He learned a long way back that the moment you put down your guard you'll be in a world of hurt. (_That's right soldier. You remember that…_)

Hicks reaches into his left leg pocket to pull out his pack of cigarettes, hoping the spike of nicotine can keep him awake and alert. No need to remember that 'smoking causes cancer' bullshit anymore, he thinks humorously to himself. Hell, he'd trade dying from cancer over dying like those colonists on the sublevel anytime. And who ever paid attention to that general surgeons label, anyway? About the only one who nags about it was Will back in the early days. Sheeit, he can remember all the times that crazy com-tech of theirs just _loved _to dog mouth the Sarge concerning his stash of stogies. Ha! He remembers that time when Will dumped all of the Sarge's stogies' tips with gunpowder! Damn well almost killed Apone if it weren't for Frost and his big mouth!

The lone Corporal chuckles whole-heartedly. He can vividly remember the expression on Apone's face before he raised the lighter to his stogie. And then Frost screaming but laughing his warning out to him. Damn… those were some good times… (_No, man, don't think about them. It's better to leave the past behind, just concentrate on the now._)

Without another thought, Hicks opens his small pack of cigarettes and glances down. He frowns abruptly, causing several lines on his forehead.

"Shit…" he curses softly to himself, soon lifting up a single, slightly bent, cigarette. Some of its tip's ashes spills over his index finger. "Last one…"

_'Last one',_ he thinks. Sighing, he slumps further into his seat and lights it, cupping his hand over his lighter so that the flame won't burn out. He puts the lighter away and inhales sharply. Afterwards, he looks at the cigarette.

_'Last one'_… he thinks again. It might be the last one he'll ever smoke. It might be the last smoke he'll ever take into his body before those bastards take it and impregnate it with one of those monsters. The woman… the woman he saw begging Dietrich to kill her. Is that how he's going to turn out? Begging? Desiring for an end? Will someone be there to grant him his wish before 'it' splits his chest into half, tearing him apart like a coconut? When's he going to buy it like that? When is he going to feel a living and breathing organism kick and tear inside his chest? Today? Tomorrow? How about next Friday? Yeah, Friday. Friday is a good time to go. Isn't it? Dwayne shakes his head. '_No. Don't think of that. Not right now. Stay focused. Stop this shit._'

He wants to pay close attention to the images revealed from the surveillance cams. Yet, his mind isn't in the zone today. For all the life of him, he can't stay fully alert. A part of him wants to think of breezy beaches and a nice glass of Tequila. It still wants to think that this whole mess is just another dream. It still wants to think he'll eventually wake up and see that poor-ass gunner, Drake, waking up beside his capsule, hear Hudson's constant complaining about the food and the lack of getting laid, see the Sergeant bragging on and on about the God almighty Corps, smell the metallic odor of the _Sulaco _as it drifts them to the next mission. '_Buddha, no need to think so much, man. It ain't happening. It's all real. Everything. You. Ripley. Death. The bastards. They're all here. And unless you get with the program, man, you're going to keep realizing that._'

The Corporal tries to agree but finds his mind consumed with wishful thinking. Hoping. Sometimes, he thinks he's the only one here still possessing that human quality.

Just an hour ago, he thought he did something nice. No, not nice. Human. They had been here in this Hell forsaken planet for too long, too short to get the rescue team in, but too long to settle at ease. He thought they'd welcome the change of pace. After all, it's Christmas. It's supposed to be that time of the year where everyone's problems were halted for a moment or two, where everyone pretended to be human for about twenty-four hours, drinking eggnog, talking with friends and relatives, opening presents, and singing the twelve fucking days of Christmas! Yet… he should've known better. This was no place for that damn jolly fat man. No sir. It was a time to stay alert and live under unforgiving conditions. Or, at least, that's how Ripley and that prick, Burke, saw it.

Sure, he can understand Ripley and how she sees things. The woman has balls as hard as steel and he'd have her watching his ass anytime. Lord knows to have to live through that misery of hers and then come back for more… it's enough to make an insane man sane. But why is it so hard for her to, at least, acknowledge a festive occasion? Joy, happiness, love, friendship… these are the things that separates their species from all the others. It makes them special and somehow… better than the rest. Of course, this could just be the little boy in him that still believes that kind of shit, the boy who still believes in the good side of stuff. Optimistic as ever. Maybe that kid is dead, maybe he died a long time ago. Or maybe he died when he landed on this hellhole…

Before he can finish that last thought, he hears the doorlock open. Not bothering to stand, he swirls around in his chair to see his visitor. The face he makes is anything but warm.

"Hello, Ripley," he greets tonelessly. _Hello, Mrs. Grinch_, his mind actually says.

Ripley stands there, her face unreadable. She stares at the rows of monitors, studying each of their images. All they show are empty corridors and compartments along with the corpses of aliens that were killed six days ago.

"Hello, Hicks," finally comes her reply, Ripley still observing the monitors.

Only once does she blink, her body making little movement. She seems too cautious to think of addressing her reason for being here. In another time or lifetime, he might mistake her for a soldier since she fits the profile well. Quiet. Strong. Patient.

He inhales a bit of his cigarette, waiting for her to state her reasoning for being here. Others would just plain out ask for it. Him? No, he'll wait it out. He's not going anywhere anyway. And his old man always told him when he was a pup to never rush a person. It's damn right rude and an indication of a bad soldier.

After a long time, he sees Ripley manage to finally turn away from the monitors and descend the small flight of stairs to meet him at ground level.

"Everything's quiet in this neck of the woods," Hicks snorts out loud and lies back against his seat, moving it left to right. "So why are you here? Afraid I screwed up again?"

Ripley shoots a glance at him, noticing the sarcastic tone he used. Deep down he regrets it. He braces for what is to come, expecting it to be an ugly stare. Surprisingly enough, however, it isn't. If anything, her face is soft.

She takes a couple of steps forward until she is within a foot away from him. She sits on the counter where the consoles he's currently observing are placed. Behind her, there is a clear visual of the sentry guns and dead alien bodies. The silent woman sits there.

"I appreciate your effort in lightening up the mood, Hicks," she replies briskly, "We could all use it. There's little warmth in this place. Funny, that they should call it Hadley's Hope of all things."

Hicks exhales his cigarette slowly, letting the nicotine kick in some. Through the smoke, his eyes study Ripley carefully, already reading between the lines.

"Yeah," he mentions quietly and inhales again, looking at her. "But you still feel that I did wrong by going out, don't you?"

Ripley blinks. She then nods, confident at herself again.

"Yes… you could've gotten yourself killed, Hicks." Her dark eyes narrow, sparking some intensity in them. "And for what? A couple of coffee packets?"

Hicks laughs in response, but it's a lifeless laugh. It's dry and somewhat depressing.

"You know my little 'side adventure' meant more than that, Ripley," he smiles, a thin weary one. He sits against his chair, glancing briefly at the monitors.

Ripley remains quiet, still wanting an explanation. Man, he thinks, she's one of those black and white people, right? The type who can't get a joke? The type who'd rather have right and wrong answers than accept the middle? The in-between? Fine. He can play that game.

"I don't want to buy it in this place knowing that I just sat here." His eyes are as intense as his voice. "I want to make the most of what's left than wait."

"You aren't going to die," Ripley argues as matter-of-fact and stares at the monitor revealing a pile of alien corpses. "Not if we play our cards right, anyway."

"I didn't mean it like that," he leans forward in his chair, clasping his hands together and putting them on his knees. "I mean… are we just going to stay put here and act like robots? I was in some tough shit at the beginning of my cadet years. After that, they threw us in with the dogs. I've seen friends killed. Children. Moms. Dads. Even through that, even through that human cruelty I witnessed, I still held the belief of a better place. I still believed that somewhere down the line, we were better than that. Yeah, you can call me an optimistic type of guy, even if I'm just another dumb ass grunt, but there's more to life than just waiting, Ripley. It's Christmas… don't you think that this is one of those times where we can act human? For a moment, at least?"

Ripley just stares at him, her arms slowly crossing across her chest. Her eyes reveal something hurtful in them somehow. He's not the cause for her distress, though, something else is. Something more painful. It's that glance, the one he saw when she heard Apone's dying voice.

He learned a long time ago to read between the lines through a person's eyes. He finds it hard to believe, though, that Ripley is one of those people who keeps things down to the lock bolt. But she's a mystery, isn't she? Back on Gateway, the Sergeant and that clean boy, Gorman, gave them discs containing Ripley's briefing. From the get-go, he noticed something different about her. What in the Devil's name would make a person come back here, knowing what waited on the other side?

Ripley still doesn't say anything.

"It isn't your fault…" he says softly and gestures at the entire room, "None of this shit is your fault. It never was."

She rubs the back of her neck, looking awfully tired now. She probably didn't hear him say that. He said it too low. After all, he, too, is coping with some issues of his own. At several points during his stay here, he's blamed himself for his comrades' deaths, thinking that he could've somehow saved them. At another point, he even blamed Ripley. If not for her, they wouldn't be here fighting for their lives. But the fact is, he can't go back through time to fix things. And civilians like Ripley don't have the necessary power to order a squad of marines to do as they please. The company, on the other hand, does.

"You should get some rest. You look like you could use it," Hicks replies looking back at the monitors. "I can handle things here perfectly fine, Ripley."

"And this comes from a man who was dosing off on his way here?" she finally says, actually finding the strength to smile. "No. That's okay. I'm fine. I guess I came here to say… I just wanted to tell you…"

Dwayne shifts his attention back to the woman. It looks like she wants to tell him something but can't. It must be big since she doesn't appear to be the type of person to get swallowed up over something.

"Hicks… I want to tell you that I'm sorry."

"Huh?" he raises his eyes in surprise, "You're sorry? For what?"

"For being such a bitch back there. For barking at you. I know you did it in good intention, but, I don't like the idea of risking lives here. Yours and Newt's especially." Her face becomes stone until a small smile emerges on her lips. "I really am a bitch once you get to know me better."

He grins, showing white teeth. "Jeez. Thanks for the warning, Ripley. You could've told me this sooner, y' know."

"Ellen," she smiles and nods a little. "My name's Ellen."

"Dwayne," he replies, "Kind of weird addressing each other by our last names, isn't it? It's like we're no longer individuals but just faceless people addressed by numbers and ranks."

"Yeah," she looks back at the monitors, viewing one that offers footage of Hadley's Hope exterior.

The camera angle moves a little, jolted by the heavy wind outside. Several objects fly across, including a Weyland Yutani sign that tumbles away from the camera's view. The entire outside environment is empty of people. There's only damaged property and dust. It's basically a graveyard. Ripley closes her eyes.

"I must've been out of my mind to have come here. And here I thought I'd being getting some closure. I was wrong…"

The Corporal notices the look of depression on her face. He sees her open her eyes, watching and studying each detail the monitors reveal to her. Even though it's apparent that she's tired, she seems bent to fight on, to struggle. He has no idea where she gets this juice from, but it certainly is inspiring.

"So why did you come?" he asks, voice quiet. "Why not have left it alone and be safe?"

"Safe?" snorts Ripley, "I'm not safe. No one is. Not as long as those things are out there."

Hicks watches the flood of frustration run over her face. He can't help but to feel helpless. And curious.

"I read the tapes you made prior to coming here," he starts, "You mentioned that this all started after investigating a SOS coming from a ship, a 'derelict' ship. Am I right?"

"Yes, that's where Kane got infected. There were thousands of eggs there. Thousands."

"Is it still here? On this planet?"

"Yeah," she nods rather depressed.

"So, then, we wait for the rescue team to arrive and blow this mother out of the sky too. We'll take out the entire enchilada and finish it. In a day or two, Acheron will be quarantined so that we're positive that we've got each and every one of them."

"I wish it were that easy, Dwayne, but the company is going to give us hell."

"The company? What do they have to do with this?"

"Everything. They're the ones that started this shit."

Hicks becomes quiet.

"Weyland Yutani has been busy trying to create bio weapons for the weapons department," she explains, "They don't even need Congress's approval for this project since they literally have bought each member. It wasn't a surprise that, after my trial, one of their assholes sent some colonists to look into the Derelict's location. I'm currently checking up on who this idiot was, at least for evidence. If we get out this place, Dwayne, we're going to need all the evidence we need to prevent the company from creating a bio weapon of these things."

"What?" Hicks' voice grows hard, eyebrows raised. "Bio weapon? The company wants to make a bio weapon of these things? That's crazy!"

"Exactly, which is why we have to stop them. It doesn't end here. It ends with them too."

Jesus… Hicks sits uncomfortably in his chair. He's heard of the company pulling some crazy shit before. Being in the Corps for a while, you get to hear the stories. But this… this is fucking lunacy!

"I tried to warn them. I tried to tell them about these creatures but they obliviously looked the other way." She stops, running a hand across her hair. "And now we've got a colony infested with these monsters."

"Then that explains why they decided to send only my squad in," he says uneasily to himself and looks toward a logo on the wall across him representing the company. He feels like spitting at it but can't conjure up enough saliva since his mouth is dry now. "They wanted us to deal with this problem in a quiet manner. Christ, they're practically going to pull the lid over this once they're through."

"Yeah, and now I'm worried about this 'rescue team' you talk about. What guarantee do we have that they're coming to rescue us and not clean up their mess by killing us all?"

"Because, if what you say is true, then they'll want us alive for liable information. They want field experience, Ellen, something they can't get anywhere else. At least not yet, anyway."

They stare at each other for a long time, thinking about this notion. Basically, it means that they're going to be somebody's lab rat. They're going to squeeze the juice off of each and every one of them until they're satisfied. Jesus, Hicks thinks, so this is how it's like to be a pawn of some madman's game. He always figured that being used wasn't a problem for him. After all, he's a marine and being used came with the territory. Yet, this sort of using isn't what he expected. Even if he's a soldier, he's just as liable to be shitted on. He's even worse off than Ripley because he'd be breaking his code of honor if he refused to cooperate with his officers. There's no denial that soldiers who have 'miraculously' pushed up a rank or two were friends of executives of Weyland Yutani. No, having him talk would be no problem for them. This leaves him with one question: is if he's strong enough to fight back? Is he prepared to undo all the work he's done up to this point at the price of 'treason,' or whatever the want to call it? He's a soldier for Christ's sake. He's only human. Then again, what sort of life would he be living, knowing that he took part in the company's grand scheme?

Ripley turns her attention to him. Her face shows him nothing but a blank stare. In a toneless voice she says, "I don't ever want this to happen to Earth, Dwayne. I don't want the things anywhere near it."

Hicks looks at her in surprise, a thought coming across his mind that causes Ripley to become agitated.

"I'm no hero, Dwayne, if that's what you're thinking. I'm not doing this to be 'noble' either. I'm doing this because I lost my entire life to them. I lost my little…" she stops and clears her throat before she can finish this sentence. She resumes talking, her voice fiercer than before. "Now that I'm alive and breathing again, facing them, I plan to do all that is necessary to put a stop to these fuckers once and for all. Can I count on you? Can I trust you?"

Hicks only stuffs his cigarette with the heel of his foot. Leaving it on the ground. "Semper Fi."

Ripley nods in silence, apparently grateful that she's found someone she can trust. If only he could tell her the truth. Because the truth of the matter is, he's just like her. He ain't no hero. He'd really like to help, there's no mistaking that, but he's only a soldier, remember? What the fuck can he do to stop this from happening on Earth or any other place?

The door leading to the monitor room parts aside. Hudson stands at the door's entrance, yawning and stretching his arms out. He appears to be half alive and half dead at the same time. Hicks moans when he suddenly remembers that his shift is over and that he's being replaced by Hudson. He stands up the moment the Private takes a step into the room.

"Yo, Hicks," the ComTech mumbles very tiredly and scratches his groin. "I'm here. Time to bail, amigo. I've got this covered."

The Corporal cocks an eyebrow just at the sight of him. "You sure you're up for this, Will? You look like shit. I can stay here longer, y' know."

"You kiddin' me, man?" Hudson grins as he walks down the small flight of stairs. Some color fills the Private's face. "You've been here for hours. Let ole' Will do his magic. I'll watch these monitors carefully. I've got the sight of a hawk, remember!"

Right as he nears the row of monitors he notices Ripley standing at a corner of the room.

"Oh, hey, Ripley. I didn't see you there," Hudson replies quietly. He abruptly stops talking as if something just hit him. The cocky ComTech glances at Hicks for a long time. And then at Ripley. And, finally, at Hicks again. A goofy grin slowly curves on his lips as a nasty thought comes across his mind. Playfully, he slaps his Corporal on the shoulder. "Oh! I get it! You want a little more… 'time' here, Dwayne. Yeah. I gotcha. 'Time'. Heh."

Hicks rolls his eyes, "It's not like that."

"Uh-huh," Hudson chuckles, not believing him for a second. "Hey, man, nothing to be ashamed of. It's times like this that people tend to find 'stress-free' activities to get them through the day. Always happens. It's in human nature. Y' know what I mean, Rip?"

"It's Ripley."

"Whatever," he shrugs, "By the way, the kid's been lookin' for you. If you and Hicks want to be alone, I'll just tell her that you two are busy making little brothers and sisters for her to play with."

Hicks eyes turn narrow. Before he can mutter a word, a shot is fired from one of the sentry guns shown in the monitors. Quickly, all three check the surveillance cameras. The third camera reveals some movement among the pile of alien corpses. Immediately, Hicks takes a seat and uses the keyboard before him to increase the size of the image. One of the aliens is trying to crawl its way from its dead siblings.

"Fuck!" shouts Hudson, "I thought it died!"

"It didn't die," Ripley realizes, "It was wounded. It must've… healed itself."

"Healed itself?" screams the ComTech, "Am I missing something here? How in the hell can anything heal that fast! We just wasted these fuckers with a shit load of bullets! How can that be! Tell me!"

The sentry gun fires another round. Hicks scans the number counter on his laptop. Two bullets have been wasted, leaving only eight more left. Worse, this is the only sentry gun that has any bullets remaining. The rest are all dead. Like them if they don't figure a way out of here soon.

The injured alien continues to move. The sentry gun fires again and again. Five left. All three hold their breaths, hoping to spare those remaining bullets even if it won't really matter in the long run. However, the cunning alien resumes its struggle, scraping the gated floor with its claws as it pushes itself forward. Half of its right arm is torn off. Several holes can be seen across its chest. It's severely injured yet able to summon whatever strength left within to move away from the stack of dead siblings. No doubt, it'll recover fully if it gets away. Shit, if it could still be living and breathing after all those injuries, it can practically heal anything!

Four more bullets are fired from the mini sentry gun, directing its aim at the alien's chest. Hicks stares blankly at the number that now shows on his laptop. Last one. For some reason, his eyes find their way to the crumbled cigarette on the ground. Last one.

The alien makes one more effort to flee until the remaining bullet penetrates straight into its thick and deformed skull. The capsule explodes and cuts the creature's head in half. With a jolt, the headless alien slumps to its final resting place.

The room is quiet as Ripley closes her eyes, feeling helpless and hating every minute of this hell. Hudson, on the other hand, continues staring at the monitor, watching the acid blood eat through the walls and floor. His eyes are a mix of confusion and insanity. He's a bomb, that's for sure, ready to go off at any minute now. The fact that he's already on the edge doesn't help much either. But Hicks doesn't concern himself with these matters. At least not yet. Instead, he continues looking at that crumbled cigarette. Watching it. Last one, he thinks to himself again. Last one…


	8. Chapter 8 - Welcome to the Zoo

**ALIENS: CHRYSALIS (Book 1)**

**Chapter 7: Welcome to the Zoo**

* * *

_'Entry 269':_

_The day has come. Tonight, we're going to test the newly developed instruments on Xenomorphis Terribilis, as Darwin has officially named them. The tension among her staff is omnipresent and has been building up gradually for days. I'm surprised to find that even I'm affected by it. I shouldn't be. Even though I witnessed firsthand what the creatures can do, I should be able to just erase the thought from my mind and concentrate on the task at hand._

_ I'm not. Throughout the last week, I have found myself wondering time and time again, my thoughts straying off to what's going to happen tonight. We're going to strap one of these things down onto the table with ties of specially designed Titanium-Adamantium alloy. In addition, it will be held down by a 'stasis blanket'. It won't be able to move at all while Darwin will be poking around with the new instruments in its body. At least that's what we hope. There's no telling what the thing will be able to do once we sadistic humans put it through hell for the benefit of science. I hope she doesn't select the killer as her guinea pig. There's no way of telling. All three – yes, we've got three adults now – biomechanoids look exactly the same: Same built, same height… there's no way of telling them apart. Darwin thinks of simply painting numbers on the front of their skulls. I wonder if it will be that easy. Will it interfere with their orientation system? Will it even hurt them? Drive them crazy? Who knows? _

_ We are stepping onto new territory every single day now. Nobody knows what's going to happen and where this project is going to land us. It could bring the greatest progress in history, the medical as well as the military aspect. It could be a breakthrough of unimaginable proportions… or the biggest failure ever. We could create a killer virus with the potential to destroy mankind. We could build indestructible monsters we can't control, which will take over the station and... stop it, Isis! Yes, it is dangerous. This is why Phooka's so far out. One reason of course being the absence of all the laws and regulations that would hinder our progress in the more civilized and better monitored parts of colonized space. _

_ The other reason is that if something really happened ... something bad... Weyland Yutani could deal with it here themselves without having to wonder about anybody's reaction. They could blast Phooka to kingdom come if they felt it were necessary... Let's face it, everybody is aware that a project that harbors such great opportunity must be dangerous as well. It's an ancient truth. So ancient, the old Chinese even have a word for it containing that double meaning. We'll see where this will lead us._

_ I don't discuss these things with my boss these days. I have my reservations about messing with the xenomorphs, but I know nobody will listen to me, least of all Darwin. She's obsessed with these things. I even find her watching them in her spare time. If that accident in Lab 4 had one effect, it's that she's even more intend now to unveil the E.T.'s secrets... all of them! She's alienating her staff with this herself, even me. So far, I always felt some kind of kinship with Darwin, having thought of her as some kind of soul mate, even though I don't have a soul… or at least I think I don't. Is there space enough for a soul on a microprocessor? _

_ Darwin, yes... the distance between us has grown ever since that meeting with Rosselli and Vox. She's already acting on her plan, treating me like just another part of her team and not somebody she has been sharing secrets with for quite some time now, even though the Marine is not even present! She says that's to get me into the proper 'mood', whatever she means by that. She says it's easier for everybody to behave one way rather than to constantly change their behavior towards me. After all, we don't want to blow our cover, right? _

_ So just like that, I slid down the food chain all the way to the bottom… almost. Suddenly, everybody thinks he/she can mess with me. I can't say I like it. I'm playing the part, sure. I give them 'the machine': bland face, 'Sorry' here, 'Sorry' there, and not one aggressive or smart-assed word ever. It must be some people's wet dream! Seems like just when I learned the niceties of sarcasm, I've got to forget about it again. _

_ By the way, as far as I heard, Kurtz virtually ripped off Darwin's head for the 'Lab 4-incident'. The result is that he wants to be asked for everything now. She won't even be able to waste a single one of Skin's albino rats without asking the big man's permission. This of course pisses her off to no end, but what can I say? She's had it coming? Oh, how it must stink for her to be dependant, to have to chase him down for the one signature nobody will move a finger for her without._

_ What else? Our two patients are still in recovery, but greatly so. The girl has already left Sickbay and is staying with Dr. deJoria. It makes sense. We'll need to proceed differently with the child. It will be easier to attain her trust if she accepts the doctor as maternal replacement. They seem to get along with each other quite well. I'm surprised to see that tight-assed bitch acting out compassion so convincingly. Maybe I should ask her to give me classes. I sure could use some. But then of course, deJoria's relationship with the child is based on a lie. The girl has been told that her adult caretaker is dead. It's making things easier for us. If they knew of each others existence, they'd just complicate everything. I'm sure the Marine would have told her to shut up, to not give us anything and not co-operate with us, just as he's doing. He even has his plausible reasons: USCM regulations forbid for him to spill even one word about what happened on Hadley's Hope to us. So unless he'll be officially debriefed at Gateway Station Headquarters, he'll play mute. The girl, on the other hand… _

_ Without him telling her to shut up, we've been able to get at least a few clues about the occurrences in the station after the Sulaco's crash. Of course, the vocabulary and accuracy of a six-year-old can't suffice in filling us in on all important events, but it was enough to understand why the two arrived the way they did, and certainly enough to understand why the Corporal hates us so much. Lots of blood, sweat and pain, betrayal and drama, by the sound of it. Kinda interesting to ponder what's going to happen if they ever find out about our little lie... but am I thinking? It can't happen. They'll never meet again – at least not in this lifetime. _

_ Today I'm going to bring Mr. Dwayne Hicks down to the 'Zoo', his permanent new address. Hikahi thinks it's still too early, but Darwin and Kurtz are impatient. They want the project to start: They want interaction. They want to study the Corporal's behavior in the presence of others… and Raven's, as well. Yes. That's the big news for today: Raven's going to be a 'Zoolander'. I wonder what they want to achieve with this idea? Of course Alexander's right when he says you can only study sociopathic behavior if you give the individual a chance to actually interact with others. _

_ So far, the guy has been constantly in single custody and behind a stasis shield during his session with Alexander. Nobody else has even talked to him, not even Darwin. And now they want to drop him among the local wildlife and see what happens? He'll make confetti of them, that's my guess. And – if we are really unlucky – he might just choose our valuable Marine for dinner, who knows? The man wouldn't be able to fend him off, no matter how much of an elite soldier he was before he got here. Wouldn't that be a riot? Our project on hold, because our guinea pigs terminated each other? Darwin says that when push comes to shove in the 'Zoo', they can always switch 'em off. I hope she's right. _

_ This leaves me with just one more thing to mention: Alexander. I'm really worried about him now. He's losing his grip on reality. Last night, I hid the little squeeze bottle he was sure I had no clue about… and he lost it! Completely lost it! At first I pretended to ignore him while he was frantically searching the room for it, but then he started accusing me, and then – finally – he attacked me! Yes. _

_ He grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me against the wall, yelling into my face and forcing me to look into his blood-shot eyes that give his weakness away for everyone to see. I was stunned at first, too stunned to remember that I am in fact much stronger than him… but then I fought back and held him to the wall, and we stared at each other for more than ten seconds… before I released him. He didn't continue. I guess it dawned on him during those moments what has become of him. He tried to explain and apologize, but I didn't want hear it. I've got so much shit going on myself, I don't need his in addition. So, I showed him the door … at least for that night. The look he gave me when he left was this of a wounded animal... like one of Skin's rabbits during an experiment. _

_ I almost felt sorry for him... I think. I don't know what 'being sorry' feels like. I didn't want to throw him out. I didn't feel great doing it. And now I'm sitting here on my bed and stare at the door, almost daring it to open and spit Alexander back into the room. I don't know what's going on, both with the station and with me. Things are about to change, I can feel it. Where to? The better? The worse? I can't tell. All I know is that I've never felt like this. Helpless. Frustrated. I don't like where I am right now. I don't like where Alexander's and my relationship is right now. Right now, all I want do is go on mental standby and not wake from it until everything is back to the way it was before.'_

* * *

**Sick Bay, Phooka Station**

"So, what kind of place is this I'm being moved to?" Hicks sits on his bed, for the first time since he can remember not dressed in one of those embarrassing ashen-colored hospital gowns which – in addition to offering unexpected insights to others at the most impossible times – make one look even deader than if one had suddenly gone flatline. He doesn't look at Keisha, who is sitting on the chair next to him, checking her watch for the umpteenth time in just a few minutes. He's tugging at the blue shirt that still too big for him and gives him – in the combination with the same-colored pants – the impression of having been snatched off an unsuspecting construction worker someplace. He finally turns his attention back at the young nurse. "Another part of the hospital? Like a ... sanatorium? Or more like a prison?" He sees her flinch and opens his hands questioningly. "What?"

"I can't tell, Dwayne." Her warm, dark and usually compassionate eyes are strangely unreadable today. A once clear sky that's now overcast with thick clouds. During the past week, he had learned to read in her face more than she had been willing to let him read, but today she's behaving strangely. Guarded. As not to give him the slightest clue about her true feelings. Damn, this is making him more nervous than Isis' announcement earlier that day that they wanted to move him out of Sickbay by evening.

"'Can't tell because you don't know, or because you're not supposed to tell me?" Finally, a spark of guilt. He's not sure this is what he wanted to see. She shakes her head slowly, biting her lower lip as if searching for an evasive answer. "Kee... come on, look at me." He sighs. "What is it?"

"I don't know the place, okay?" With a little more force than necessary. "It's... I think it's a neutral part of the station. Guest quarters or so."

"_Neutral_?" he repeats, unable to actually attach a meaning to the word. "What do you mean, _neutral_?"

"Not in the research area." She inhales deeply. "Look, I can't tell you about it, okay? I've never been there myself." Feeling his dissatisfaction with her answer, she adds with a slight nod towards his leg: "At least until now. Rehabilitation's still far from over for you. Hikahi told me to help you with this for as long as you need to work on it. So... you aren't rid of me, yet."

His lips smile, but his eyes don't participate:

"And you're not of me. The patient from hell is still in the neighborhood..." The remark earns him a shy laugh.

"You're not 'the patient from hell'. You're a bit grumpy on occasion, but I'm sure you have your reasons… even if you're not telling me." She sees his bemused look turn serious.

"I told you why I can't."

"Military rules, yeah." She can't help it, some of the anger she's feeling comes through in her voice. He must have noticed it – but before he can react, they both hear the door opening behind them, and the strange moment of intimacy is over as Hikahi and Isis enter the room.

Hicks can't help but notice the changed expression on the synthetic's face. Seven days ago, when she entered his room for the first time he can actually remember, both her expression and behavior had been marked by pointed irony and an undisguised display of superiority. There's nothing left of it today. If anything, her face resembles the one of his young caretaker in its guardedness. It's absolutely devoid of any tale-telling expressions, and the tattoo only adds to masking her true emotions. If she even has them. Does an android have emotions? She's looking so darn real! If Keisha hadn't told him, he would have been fooled himself, even though he has been around synthetics throughout his professional career. Usually he had been able to tell them apart even without having to see their white blood or scanner codes. They are simply… different. Innocent somehow. You knew after the first words you exchanged with them that nothing bad would come from them your way.

_'Just like Bishop_,' his thoughts turn back to the Acheron-mission together with the sour taste in his mouth that usually accompanies his spontaneous flashbacks. Bishop had kept the Weyland Yutani forces at bay for him and Ripley and Newt to escape. He doesn't know what happened to the loyal synthetic. Whether he was shot on sight, or vanished in the following inferno. Or maybe they took him with them, and he's even here, on the same station... reprogrammed and not knowing him any longer, a characterless slave to Weyland Yutani's purpose.…

He shudders at the thought and forces himself to shove the mental picture back into his subconscious from where it popped up uninvitedly. 'Androids… or 'artificial persons', as Bishop always preferred to be referred to… they're build and programmed to serve mankind, and their purpose is out on their sleeves for everyone to see. This is, however, not the vibe he's picking up from the dark beauty. She's different somehow. More complicated. More … human. A new prototype maybe? He watches her approach, but it's the doctor who first addresses him.

"Corporal Hicks? You feel good enough to exchange these unpleasant surroundings for better ones?"

So he's back on the military track now, too, Hicks notes. Strange, how people everywhere tend to reduce his kind to his profession, only. Now that he's finally feeling better, he's not a person anymore, he's just a soldier to them. He's made this observation before in his life, but it never bothered him before. Why does it now?

"Are they?" he asks back, glancing over at the android, but there's still no expression in her features. Hikahi furrows his brow.

"'Are they'.. what? What do you mean?"

"Better. Are they better than this here?" An all-encompassing gesture. Hikahi frowns, still not understanding. His artificial companions rolls her eyes. At Hikahi? At him?

"Why… of course they are. Isn't everything better than a hospital room?"

"Not necessarily…" Hicks shifts his attention to the A.I. and finds her locking eyes with him. Not challenging or amused as before, but simply observing. "If you dropped me into the dungeon, I would rather prefer a hospital room. Even this one." Finally, he sees the spark of amusement in her dark eyes.

"Dungeon, huh?" She shakes her head and points at the wheelchair that's stands at the wall behind her waiting to be used. "I won't ask you what you dreamt of last night…" An inviting gesture towards the chair. "Speaking of 'nights' – it's getting late. We should really go."

He doesn't want the chair.

"Can't I walk?"

She changes a questioning glance with the doctor, shrugs.

"It's a long way," Hikahi states. "I seriously doubt you're up to it yet."

"Why don't you take the wheelchair along, Isis, and let him walk for as long as he wants to? He can always change his mind and sit down if he doesn't feel like it anymore," Keisha suggests, not caring about drawing the A.I.'s attention to herself she's usually eager to avoid. But where there would have been a sarcastic remark from Isis just one week earlier, she's cocking an eyebrow in appreciation at the young nurse now, before she turns her attention back at him, studying his appearance as if she were dubious of his ability to follow his wish through.

"You sure about this?"

"Yeah." He slips from the bed and takes the crutches that are standing by the head-end, placing his weight on them and his left leg. She shrugs, then moves to take a hold of the wheelchair.

"Okay... then let's go."

"I am going to visit you tomorrow morning and discuss the further measures with you we'll need to take for your full recovery," Hikahi announces to his back. "And don't forget the diet! If you eat anything that-"

"I know," Hicks interrupts him without looking. All of a sudden he can't wait to leave this room. The door parts when the sensors pick up his appearance, and he's hasty to step outside. Funny, how it feels like he's entering an entirely new world. He's almost exhilarated. "I listened. I'm not stupid. No coffee yet, nothing heavy. Nothing but your wonder stuff. Hell yeah, I got it."

"Bye, Dwayne," he hears Keisha's voice, and her strange tone makes him stop and look back at her. There's something in her face he doesn't like, even if she's trying to keep it covert. What exactly is it? She smiles, waving at him briefly. "We'll see each other tomorrow." He nods and feels his lips contort to one of the falsest smiles he's ever put on. False, because he's suddenly identified the thing on her face, and it's making his stomach flutter as if he swallowed a flock of butterflies: It is fear... fear for him...

_'What do you know?'_

One moment, the question lies on the tip of his tongue, half-uttered – and then the door closes, and he's left standing in the brightly illuminated corridor with the worst premonition he's ever had. Mesmerized by the feeling of something bad coming his way, barely able to breathe. He can almost smell it. Taste, even feel it: a dark pulsing that enters his body from the toes, climbing up his nerve-ends all the way to his arms, his fingertips... into the pit of his cold stomach... synchronizing his breathing, his heartbeat , the rushing of the blood in his veins with the dark, foreboding, hypnotizing throbbing..._'It's only the generators! No need to go all into hysterics! Only the generators!'_

"You coming?" the A.I.'s voice comes to him from a far-off universe. It takes supreme effort to turn his head in slow-motion and look at her. With all distinctiveness, Hicks feels the tendons in his neck creak. Hears himself swallow air, since his mouth is so dry all of a sudden, there's nothing else left to swallow. A long, awful moment of super-reality and the feeling of watching himself under a powerful magnifying glass... and then, with the next heartbeat, it's gone. Just like that.

"Huh?"

There are lines on her forehead, and he sees her narrow her eyes questioningly.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah..." He tightens his grip on the crutches and takes the first step, shaking off the last remains of the premonition like cobwebs. "Let's go."

* * *

**'THE ZOO', Phooka Station**

The way down to his new home becomes a voyage through the land of Oz for Hicks. Sure, he's seen enough of W.Y. architecture in his life to recognize fundamental elements of their work, but even so, this place is reeking of the newest technology. While the corridors of Sickbay are still looking reasonably familiar with their cold neon lights and sparse, functional decoration, the wonders begin at the elevators: The design is modern and unobstrusively pleasant and distinct with only few buttons, a noble-looking counter over the door… and a small scanner-booth for retina-scans that makes Hicks recall the seemingly top-secret status of this facility. Obviously, you can't even use the elevators without the proper identification. Looking around, silently observing, he steps into the cabin after his caretaker.

"Level 5. No music." the A.I. steps in front of the scanner and endures the short procedure, whereas the cabin starts to drop imperceptibly. It's only the counter that's telling Hicks they're moving. "You okay?"

What? Does she think he can't take a little ride on the elevator?

"Sure." He shifts his weight on the crutches and decides to try for an answer again. Keisha for some reason didn't want to tell him, and neither did Hikahi. What about her? "So, what is this place you're bringing me to?"

"Just your apartment for the next months," she says without looking at him. As before in his hospital room, she appears to be somehow preoccupied with her unreadable thoughts. "Living quarters we're keeping ready for guests. Since Phooka is a top-secret research facility, we can't very well have people running around on the station as they wish for security reasons. So we created a compound consisting of several corridors with modernly designed apartments, a canteen, Media-Library and even a gym. It is quite spacious and luxurious, and I'm sure you won't miss a thing."

He swallows that and chews on the information for a long, quiet moment while he feels the cabin stop under his feet.

"But I'm essentially being locked up, ain't I?"

She doesn't answer, and before he can press the issue, the door opens and the wonders continue. The soft, warm, orange light of a summer-sunset greets the Marine as he steps out into the broad corridor, and he is astounded to see the orange ball of a holo-sun sink down behind an artificial horizon in the form of a peaceful meadow to his right. Nothing moves except for the branches of the projected trees and bushes on the walls in the non-existent breeze. There's even the chirping of blackbirds, giving a last life sign before they're settling in for the night. The illusion is breathtakingly realistic and leaves him gaping in wonder at the walls. There's even a trace of the sweet odor of blooming grass in the air and the gentle, hardly perceivable humming of insects- and all of a sudden, out of the blue, it hits him: A terrible flood of homesickness he's totally unprepared for, so violent and heavy, it's robbing him of his breath, cutting into him like a knife without meeting any defense mechanism. It aches, hurts more than anything Hikahi put him through; a long, barbed thorn right through his innards.

Home… he wants to go home! Back to Earth and the three islands of New Zealand he's been calling his home ever since he left his little, boring home-planet known as Alpha-Ceti to join the Corps and the Gateway-based regiment of the Northern Territories. He wants to feel the sun on his face again, and the wind in his hair. Rain hammering down on him, he doesn't care what! Just something real, something that's not make-believe! Not this artificial, aroma-scented lie that dissolves to nothing when he wants to touch it! It's a desperate cry in his mind – that's stunned into silence with the realization that not only he is not going to have it for the next eight months... he's not going to experience the feeling _ever_ again! They won't let him go!

Dammit, he keeps forgetting it! Somehow his stupidly optimistic and still slower-than-usual working mind keeps on falling for their blunt lies again and again and again, whenever he's not watching. But the fact is that he won't leave this place... _ever._.. at least not alive. Because there's this nasty little story he'd have to tell... about Weyland Yutani's hidden agenda... about their being responsible for the death of those colonists... and an entire squad of Marines. About their being responsible for the loss of an expensive 'Conestoga'-class warship... No. They can't let him go.

The enormity of this realization hits him like a baseball club over the head, and the little strength he's got left vanishes into thin air. He starts to shake, unable to make even one step further. Gulps. His eyes start to sting, and he's squeezing them shut, feeling lost in this sudden maelstrom of despair that's sucking him in like a giant black hole. Oh fuck... the crutches clatter to the floor and he loses his balance, takes a hasty step with his weak leg which gives in – and all of a sudden, he finds himself in the wheelchair.

"Hey, you could have said something, you know?" he hears Isis voice next to his left ear. "I knew it was too far for you. But you guys always have that stupid pride thing going on, right? If you had hurt yourself again, Hikahi would have ripped my head off!"

Hicks feels her pushing him forward and stays quiet, attempting to look through the breathtaking illusion of summer grass they're wading through. _'Don't feel this place'_, he repeats, mantra-like, in his head. _'You're going to get off this station somehow. It will all come together. Things have looked bad or even worse before. What_ _kind of a sissy are you to give up just now?'_

He recognizes the mental drill-instructor in his head from various other occasions. He's always been helpful and definitely the one secret of his that kept him alive thus far.. Whenever he had been ready to wallow in self-pity and despair in the past, a good, hard, self-inflicted kick in the butt had done the trick, even on Acheron, where he had been ready to give up on several occasions. He hadn't thought he'd ever see daylight again while he was lying in that darn tunnel, feeling his strength pour out of his body through the gashes in his leg. But he did. He sure as hell didn't expect for anyone to come back for them after he had activated the automated distress-signal from the next atmosphere processor either.

And now he's here. What makes him think that _this_ is the end? Why shouldn't he be able to turn it all around? There might be a chance if he's just patient enough to wait for it. His priority right now has to be to keenly observe, to find out as much about this place as possible - and to recover and keep his hopes up.

Mulling this over in his head, Hicks leans back in the wheelchair and takes in his surroundings, trying to see through the fake clone of nature to the technology below. The first thing he picks up is the absolute desertion of the place. It's a broad corridor, one that looks like a main walkway and shouldn't be as vacant at this time of day. It's not _that _late, after all. But still, there's no trace of any other human soul. No shadows moving in front of or behind them, no muffled voices anywhere. No hint of a human scent, no trace of perfume in the air where somebody maybe just somebody went the same way two minutes ago.

No doors opening or closing. In fact, the atmosphere down here resembles the one on Hadley's Hope so much, it's giving him the creeps, and he can't help tensing in the chair, halfway expecting the next door or ventilation grille to fly out of its frame and have a double-jawed, black nightmare jump at him. If the A.I. notices his unusual timidity, she doesn't say anything. Maybe her mind is in her own world again, just like his. They pass a long row of doors in silence, and Hicks can see the corridor opening to a big hall at the end, but before they reach it, they stop at a door to his right and enter the room behind it.

Hicks inhales deeply, bracing for what's to come. So this is going to be his place for months to come, huh? He takes it in: the hotel-room-like living room they're standing in features a comfortable looking, gray bed/ couch and a medium-sized plasma-screen on the opposite wall, which is a part of a standard entertainment center with illuso-programs and disc-player. Behind it is the door to a small bathroom, as it seems. Nothing else. No kitchen, no sleeping room. Just like a hotel.

The walls are not hospital-white, but shaded a nice, sunny yellow which diminishes the sterile effect most Weyland Yutani-facilities usually exude, and sport two framed pictures – again nature motives, done impressionist-style. Nice. Cozy. A somewhat acidly smile tugs at Hicks mouth when he sees the curtains that frame the plasma-screen, which is switched to 'window-mode' and shows a pleasant beach scene, breathtakingly three-dimensional… but fake nevertheless.

As he turns his head, he sees another holo-window with a corresponding scene on the wall that leads to the corridor… but… He narrows his eyes, and makes a discovery that causes his heartbeat to accelerate. He can't help it. It is indeed a window… from the outside! Like a one-way mirror, only that it shows the _–'Inmate. I'm an inmate. - _a beach-scene instead of his own image. Holding his breath, he looks up to the ceiling… to the corners… and tightens when he sees the observation camera in the far end of the room. Firmly planting his feet on the ground, he forces his caretaker to stop.

"Okay, time-out; Isis! Hold it right here, and no more games: Just what the fuck is this place? And don't give me this shit about 'my apartment for the next months!' I've seen the camera! And I know this window back there –" he points his thumb over his shoulder – "is a _real _window! What are you going to do? Study me? Why? What for?"

He gets up on one leg and sits himself down on the couch. It's difficult leading a heated discussion without seeing his opponent. But even though he's searching for a guilty expression on the beauty's face, he's can't find it. Her features remain maddeningly bland behind those symmetrical black lines on her face, and she doesn't even appear to be shamed enough to avoid eye-contact.

"I can't tell you."

"This is-"

"I don't know, okay? I'm just an assistant. Not even a live one, just a dumb machine. You really think I would have brought you down here if I were one of those big bosses? Hell, I'd have other stuff to do, I tell you! I can't say what they want from you. You'll need to ask that someone else."

"Who?"

"They're going to introduce themselves to you soon enough. Look, life's hard enough for me these days without you giving me hell too, okay? I'm sorry they're moving you around like a chess figure. I'm sorry I can't tell you what they want from you, but I can't change it…. and I'm sorry for that, too."

She breathes heavily, but of course it's all make-believe like everything else here, too. Even if she's easily the most realistic synthetic Hicks has ever seen – she's a synthetic, period. She doesn't even need to breathe at all for all he knows. Her being upset over him is just another part of this strange drama he's having a major role in. So he doesn't relax when she continues, but rather stares at her with narrowed eyes, angry and frustrated. "So, do you want me to show you the essential things you need to know about life down here, or would you prefer to be left alone now?"

He can't figure her, dammit, he just can't! If she's only playing a part here, she's really good at it, because for the life of him he doesn't know what to make of her. Hicks inhales deeply, feeling torn between wanting to squeeze the truth out of somebody and the knowledge of his inability to do anything about his situation at all. He slumps his shoulders, shrugs indifferently.

"And what do I need to know?" His voice is back to flat. He doesn't really care for her lecture, but he's going to get it anyway. "What's the number for room-service?" He notes the communicator on the table next to the couch. "Or do I lip-synch it to the camera whenever I want something, or what?"

She ignores his sarcastic tone.

"You will be able to get everything you need yourself. If you turn your head and look over to your right, you see the autochef. It's for drinks, only. You'll be able to take your meals in the common room down at the end of the corridor along with the others. This is also where-"

"The _others_?" Hicks interrupts, alarmed. "What do you mean? Which others?"

"The people sharing this compartment with you."

He stares at her, chewing on this exquisite bit of information. Just like he thought from the get-go. He's a prisoner. This is some kind of jail… or worse. His mouth feels very dry all of a sudden.

"The other _inmates_, you mean."

She rolls her eyes.

"If you want to see it like that…"

"What other way of seeing it is there?" He props his hands against the couch and seats his behind more comfortably. "We're being locked in here. We're prisoners. Or am I wrong?"

"I'd rather call you a 'guest'," she replies evenly. "You know, I don't have to tell you this, but just for your information: The others are a group we salvaged when their ship was about to blow up. They were all deep in cryo-sleep and would be intergalactic instant powder now if it weren't for us."

"How noble of you."

"And they are just like you: They complain and bitch about not being able to roam the station as they want. They don't seem to be able to get it into their heads that they can't just run around in a top-secret research-base as they please! It's not just because of the confidentiality issue – it's simply, plain dangerous! We don't want any accidents to happen – neither to them, nor to our staff. Why is this so hard to understand?"

"Maybe it would be easier if there weren't all these observation cameras and one-way fake windows and all this other shit," Hicks sneers at her. He points towards the corridor. "I bet you even lock us in, right?"

Isis takes a step back and leans her back against the wall. There is an expression on her face now – one of slowly vanishing patience. She crosses her arms under her chest.

"For the night, yes. For your own safety. But you'll be able to move around as you like during daytime. Like I said, we've got-"

"You can say whatever you want, it sounds just more and more like a prison to me."

"You know what?" She props her hands against her hips and stretches her chin out in a demonstration of genuine human anger. "I don't have time for this. If you want to complain, you can get on the keyboard and send an email. The line goes straight to my boss. But don't bother me with your whining anymore. I'm going to give you the most important information about this place now, and then I'm off. It's up to you whether you'll listen or not, because I don't care."

"I know you don't."

"Fine. You know something else?" Her tone is sharp, and her eyes glaring at him. Impressive, really. "Find out for yourself. I'm way past my regular shift, and I want to go home now. If you think sarcasm is going to help you deal with the situation, suit yourself. But I've had it with you tonight. If you're healthy enough for smug replies again, you're probably smart enough to find what you need by yourself. Good night."

And with that, she turns her back on Hicks and makes for the door with long, determined strides which clearly show her suppressed anger, pushing the wheelchair along in front of her. The door parts for her, and when it slides shut again, Hicks hears its mechanism cycle… and knows he is now in fact a prisoner.

The sense of dread which he felt earlier comes back with a vengeance, filling up his entire being with the feeling of painful helplessness and despair, a dark gray spiral of doom dragging him down towards a bottomless black hole he won't be able to climb out of again. It takes real effort for him to breathe as his glance glides up towards the observation camera, one thought bouncing around in his head: His military days …are over. From now on, his new job will be that of an official lab rat at Weyland Yutani, Inc.. He doesn't know what it is they want from him, but whatever it is, he's got the distinct notion that his new career will be a short-lived one…

* * *

**The Ivory Tower, Phooka Station**

"So," Darwin begins while she's fiddling around with the new instruments she's about to test in half an hour. She's not looking at me, and her tone is neutral, detached. "How was your today's encounter with the Corporal? Any improvements?"

"Ha!" I make, a dry, humorless sound. My fingers play with the stasis remote I'm already familiar with. Today I'm going to need perfect handling skills, or we'll have the next catastrophe on our hands, and this time it might just cost our own heads, in a very literal sense. "He hates my guts, I'm sure. He left little doubt about it."

My reply causes my boss to look up briefly. There are creases on her brow.

"Did he attack you? Or-?"

"No. Nothing like that. After all, he's not yet in the condition to try anything funny … but he noticed right away that the flowery guest-stuff I told him was crap. He's a soldier, after all. He knows what an observation camera looks like or a one-way window. And he knows what they're there for. After all, he wouldn't have qualified for this project if he were dumb, right?"

She looks me over in silence for a few, brief moments, and then agrees and puts the long, shiny tube she's holding in her hand down onto the tray.

"Right."

She turns on her heels and eyes the operating room of Lab 1. Everything's set for the test that will determine how soon we'll be able to get to work on our _real_ project. The long, customized metallic table in the middle of the room should be big enough for the alien, even if we stretch it out to the last possible inch of it's tail. The stasis caster which will envelop the creature with an impenetrable, invisible energy blanket works, we've already tested it a hundred times in the last two hours. The bastard won't be able to fight its way out of it. The Titanium-Adamantium ties which will likewise hold it to the table, are functional, too. It shouldn't be able to move even a millimeter.

Once we have it in the secure room – ha! Anybody remember the security glass in Lab 4? – it will be sealed off and Darwin will slip into the in-built gloves and be able to use the new equipment that's lying on a tray next to the table, within easy reach. Even though we're not even in the same room with it, we'll be wearing new frocks which have been treated with a substance that at least seems to have a delaying effect on the acid blood. So in case anybody – or all of us – should be splashed with it despite all the safety precautions we've taken, we might at least have a chance to slip out of it before the acid eats through to our skin.

Darwin takes it all in, momentarily seeming to have forgotten me. I wait, indifferently. I'm not looking forward to what the next hours will bring, and behind my – hopefully – void face I'm recalling the encounter with the Marine once more. I don't know what I did wrong. I was trying to be friendly with him, I really was. I didn't make any snide remarks, kept my facial expressions in check and tried to come off as sympathetic – yet he didn't buy it. Was it me, or does he simply hate us all for locking him in?

Either way, something's telling me we're a long way yet from becoming friends. A classical case of theory and real life – do something by the book, and the outcome might still surprise you. I guess another date with Alexander's detailed files on human behavior is in order. Maybe even a conversation… provided he has a lucid moment while he's around me.

"-ready?" I hear Darwin's voice close to me. She looks at me inquiringly, then at something – or someone – behind my back. I nod.

"Sure. Let's do it." I see the head-guard – for a lack of names – expecting us at the door with a look on his face that's telling me Leary didn't keep his mouth shut about the Lab 4-incident. Four more guards await us in the main room, and they are clearly nervous, too, even though they are heavily armed. Skin's also there, looking sicker than ever. I assume it took Darwin massive threats to convince him to come here tonight.

"Mr. Sanchez?" She eyes the guard next to her, her blue eyes piercing like lasers. "Do you have any further questions? Or are we on the same level concerning the proceedings? You are not allowed to fire until I say so. "

"I understood that, Miss Darwin."

"These specimens are priceless. We cannot afford to waste them just because we might not have the nerves to pull through. " Her gazes wanders from guard to guard, leaving absolutely no doubt about her seriousness. "Do we have an understanding about that?"

"We do, Miss Darwin," the man – Collins, his name-tag says – assures her. "But what if-"

Her raised hand stops him dead in his tracks.

"There are no 'what-if's'. You won't fire until I say so, period. Anyway, I'm convinced my assistant here," – her hand lands, to my astonishment, on my shoulder and gives it a light squeeze – "-will be perfectly capable of keeping the creature in check. You know about android reflexes. We humans can't even begin to compete."

I furrow my brow at her, feeling the men's probing eyes on me. What the heck was that? Why did she have to emphasize the fact that I'm not human and make me an outsider in this room? Even if what she said was probably meant as a compliment – I take it as an insult. I'm different. It's that fact she's been meaning to point out. But before I can even begin to ponder whether it's her behavior that's changed or my sensitivity, the group of humans – hell, I can differentiate, too! – step forward towards the corridor which leads to Xenomorph City. We better get going, or we'll be standing here the entire night! While I'm following those superior beings, I wonder where Kurtz is. He said he'd grace us with his presence for this vital experiment… but I guess, after what happened just last week, he'll wait to do so until the wild beast has been secured. Although what the alien will do once Darwin starts torturing it, will be anybody's guess…

"Wait-" I start, having thought the whole scenario through. They stop and turn their heads with a look of puzzlement on their faces which is almost funny. "I think it would be better if I did it alone."

"You're kidding', right?" the giant guard to my right says, sizing me up with a glance that's telling me clearly that Darwin's remark's had its effect. I feel inclined to answer to his challenge, but hold myself back at the last moment… but how about a little dose of sarcasm?

"I'm a machine," I state evenly, looking at him without blinking. "I don't have any humor. The ability of kidding you is completely beyond me." The man draws his bushy eyebrows together, but before he can utter something, I turn to my boss and continue, stupefying him even more: "I really think it would be best if I did it alone. We don't want the creature to become even more agitated than necessary, right? So why don't we spare positioning our heavy artillery around it?"

There's a trace of a disbelieving smile on Darwin's face.

"You _are_ serious about this, aren't you?" She turns her head into the direction of the compound and licks her lips, obviously thinking about my offer, which would mean taking her out of the immediate danger, too. "You've got guts, Isis, I give you that."

"Mechanical guts," I can't help add. "They're tougher than human guts by nature. It's the material. No offense." Surprisingly, the upward curve of her lips becomes even more prominent. I would have thought she'd bark at me, for sure. When she finally shifts her attention back at me, I see consent in her eyes.

"Fine. If you say you can handle it – we'll do it your way."

"I _handled _it before," I remember her from last week's precarious situation. "And I don't have any nerves that might quit on me the moment it counts." _Eat this, Hulk!_ I think, feeling satisfaction over the guards' frown even though I'm hardly looking at them. I can't tell though why I'm suddenly so eager to impress my boss in spite of her treating me so badly these days. "So?"

"Good." She motions for the others to follow her back to the laboratory complex without further ado. The head-guard – Sanchez – shoots me another angry glare that's telling me that he's just keeping his mouth shut because of Darwin's presence. Like I care!

"I don't think this is a good -," he begins to air his concerns, but her raised hand cuts him short.

"Believe me, Mr. Sanchez, Isis is capable of more than the five of you combined. She has my full trust. Let's get into position, gentlemen."

Sanchez draws his eyebrows together doubtfully, but remains silent as he gestures for his men to follow him back. I'm somewhat surprised by Darwin's unexpected show of affection. They stomp off into the opposite direction, noisy like a troop of early synthetics – the kind that was still made of metal, back in the good old days. I turn around and brace for the task at hand. This is going to take perfect timing… and it's good that Darwin's back in the operating room where she'll have the additional monitors and a better overview than I'm going to have.

The heavy door to the high-security compound parts to let me through, and I step up to the huge panoramic window-pane that grants me a generous view into – very likely – some sick mind's idea of hell: Glistening, shiny organic structures we didn't build cover the walls, the floor, the ceiling, making the room – the hive, I correct myself – look like the inside of giant heart…

The only reason why I'm still able to see into it is the thin stasis layer between the security glass and the aliens. They can't attach anything to the energy shield. I step up close and search for Xenomorph City's inhabitants. It's hide & seek for pros. Nothing moves in the blue twilight of the hive. I switch my visuals to infrared, knowing I could well spend an hour looking for them, while looking straight at them. It's fascinating how seamless they're able to blend into their room decoration.

On infrared, however, the bright silvery images stick out of their surroundings like pockmarks. There's one directly opposite me, rolled together in a mock-fetal position, its elongated head turned in my direction. Watching me, likely. Or sensing me some other way. The other two are further back, motionless like the other, but also looking at me. Their arrangement makes it easy for me to pick my potential victim. I raise the remote, and a split second later a stasis barrier cuts the single alien off from its brethren. They don't react.

Do they sense the barrier? I'm sure they do. Yet, they remain calm… but it won't be long until the specimen in front of me will go berserk. I can't help asking myself whether it's the one that already helped itself to a taste of human blood a week earlier. Maybe it _wanted_ to be selected… maybe it _wanted_ to have another go at me, daring me to try the same thing twice. '_Save it, Isis!'_ I order myself to concentrate.

Leaving the first barrier where it is, I create a second one around myself – the bubble-function I discovered by accident – and deactivate the stasis shield that's sealing off the compound to enter. A silver spark with teeth and claws erupts towards me faster than the human eye could see – but I catch it in mid-jump and force it to the ground with just a tip of my thumb by casting the protective bubble around it. Ducking, its elongated head bowed to the ground because there's no more room, it shrieks in uncontrolled fury, and I can't help asking myself whether it is indeed the same specimen we already put through the shark-experience. If it is, it must be pissed at me to no ends for having defeated it twice!

With the utmost caution, I move the thing towards the door like a puppet master in the most dangerous staging ever. I make it move on all four, the bubble so small it can't even swish its tail around. Hissing and spitting, it claws its way down the corridor, leaving bright shining scratch marks and glistening pools of saliva on the metal. I pick up the squealing of the other two behind me, which gets cut off by the reactivation of the stasis field and the closing of the door into the compound behind me, but I don't bother to look.

My full attention is directed at the deadly being before me, as I'm steering it to the right side, into the operating room. Darwin lets the door part for us, and as we enter, I see that the sinkable operating table has been lowered all the way to the ground for me to direct the ET on to it. The rest is easy: I make it crawl onto the rectangle and wait for Darwin to activate the stasis-caster on the ceiling, the beam pressing the alien to the ground with a force of 15G. The metallic ties slip out of the table and around the creature's wrists, elbows, head, neck, between the horns on its back all the way down to the last inch of its tail, it's knees and ankles. It can't move an iota… at least it shouldn't be able to. But I'm still hesitant to let the remote sink.

"We've got it, Isis," I hear my bosses' voice over the headset. "It's under control."

"You want one final test?" I don't know what's gotten into me as I deactivate my stasis beam and step up directly in front of the alien on the table, my shins thirty inches away from the deadly double-jaws. And sure enough, the tongue-like inner jaws come crashing out and graze the steel plate its lying on… but nothing else happens.

I see its claws clench and dig into the table, leaving shiny marks, but otherwise the strong body has been all but glued onto it. With a hydraulic whine, the table begins to rise.

"It can't move," I state the obvious, turning on my heel slowly to cast a look through the window into the instrument room where Darwin and now also Kurtz watch me with a mixture of amazement and disbelief. "It's secured," I add matter-of-factly and cause the young genius to shake her head with the hint of a smile.

"Okay, Isis, we already know you've got nerves of steel," Kurtz begins, but he interrupts himself as his chief scientist rolls back in her seat, and then thinking twice, grabs the microphone to tell me I should stay where I am, she'd be coming in. I shrug, silently asking myself what she wants here. A moment later, the opportunity to ask her myself presents itself to me, but by then I don't need to ask – the excited sparkle in her eyes is answer enough as she steps up to the strapped-down extra-terrestrial. For the first time, she's got the opportunity to see it up close, or – even as I start thinking it, she stretches out her hand.

"Skin? Can you open a window for me, please?"

"Just a sec…" The scrawny scientists looks down on to his console behind the window, hacking away, and in answer to his efforts, the rooms starts to fill with a slight mist, which makes the stasis blanket which envelops the alien visible… and the hole in the shield.

"Now."

"Uh, Darwin, I don't know-" I begin, but stop when I see her sticking her arm into the opening and placing her palm on the creature's elongated skull, a dreamy, far-away look on her face. And sure enough, the thing's tongue comes crashing out again, but since she's standing on the side, there's nothing it can do to escape my bosses sudden burst of affection.

"Come here, Isis!" she beams, never having appeared more like the 21 year old she actually is. Yes, she is still young. People keep forgetting in the light of her fearsome, sharp intellect. Even I tend do… but then again, I wouldn't know about people's progression from youth to adult to old age from the start. I could tell their age based on appearance alone, but as for their state of mind… I couldn't begin to guess.

Hesitantly, I step over to her, seeing her slender fingers caress the crested dome and slide down to the smooth front just shortly over the deadly double-set of teeth. It's as if she doesn't even hear the creature's angry spitting and hissing as her smile broadens in amazement.

"Here! Put your hand here!" She taps her fingers on the alien's …brow… impatiently waiting for my reaction.

I follow her example… and look down in wonder. The skin under my palm is cool to the touch, and hard. Very hard. Hard enough to withstand my fingernail as I rake my index finger over the smooth surface to see whether I can gather some samples that way. And it feels strange, not organic at all. Not even chitinious… rather… metallic. Like the chassis of a sleek race car. But that's all nothing against the sensation of the gentle humming against my skin… together with a rhythmic throbbing that doesn't invoke any associations of biological life in me. It doesn't feel like a pulse. More like… a generator. The realization hits me with the force of an epiphany as I lift my head to meet Darwin's expectant gaze.

"You're feeling this too?"

"Could it be…that… this thing is a machine?" I ask, realizing fully how entirely stupid this sounds. But from the expression in her eyes, I can see she's been thinking the same thought.

"It certainly feels like it, doesn't it?" She shifts her attention back to her object of curiosity, running her hand back over the entire length of the alien's skull, caressing it with her fingertips, exploring the tubular appendages on the creature's back in an almost obscenely intimate way. "But it procreates biologically."

She draws her arm back and tells Skin with a brief nod to close the window in the energy blanket.

"We'll see about that very soon. _Very soon_! Come on. Let's go get us some answers." She storms out of the room, making it hard even for me to follow her down the corridor, to where the guards are positioned right in front of the door. When I enter the observation room, she's already slipping into the in-built gloves, seemingly hardly able to wait even another minute. Kurtz looks at me questioningly as I claim the last unoccupied seat.

"What did you feel?" he asks, and from the way he's ignoring Darwin – he could have asked her that and get a probably more satisfying answer – I can tell they must already like each other very much tonight. Skin's looking at me, too.

"Some kind of humming and throbbing," I try to describe the strange sensation. "As if the thing were powered by generators."

"You mean – " I see Scylar's eyes widen – "it's a machine?"

"I don't know what I mean," I state calmly, watching Darwin's gloved hands take the first instrument from the tray. Soon we all will be much smarter… or not. "It doesn't add up. Darwin's right – their procreation is strictly biological. So they can't be machines. At least not according to our definitions."

"Skin?" Darwin's impatient voice makes him remember why he's here. His fingers dance over the keyboard and open another small window for the tube-like laser-saw next to the dome of it's skull. Developing this instrument was a bitch! We had to make the operating part insubstantial in order to avoid it being dissolved by the molecular acid, and had to integrate some sort of vacuum-pump to suck out as much of the highly corrosive liquid from the hole as possible. Stasis, laser and vacuum technology all working hand-in-hand. It's never been tried before. Maybe we'll blow ourselves up in the process and vanish in a green mushroom cloud after having unleashed the greatest power in the universe? How funny would _that_ be?

"Careful," Kurtz whispers to my right, mesmerized by the proceedings. The alien shoots out its tongue in fury again, but remains immobilized. At the tip of her finger, a narrow, blue tube of light emits from the instrument's point… and starts eating through the xenomorph's natural body armor in a tight little circle. Its screeching performs a quantum leap. It hurts. I'm sure it hurts. This is no mere fury. The long claws rake the table it's strapped to, leave deep scratches, and the inner jaws open and close furiously, spitting saliva, searching for something to tear apart.

There's nothing. And it can't escape Darwin's newly developed drill from eating a hole into its head. It's a tiny hole, not even half a centimeter wide, so it's only a small gush of acid that erupts from the wound… and gets sucked away by the vacuum pump to the basin next to the operating table, where it leaves the system and drips into the water harmlessly, causing no aggressive fumes, no holes in table or floor… nifty. I'm proud of us. Looks as if the drill-pump is our first success – and as Darwin straightens in her chair to finally take her eyes off the display, I see satisfaction written all over her face, too.

"Et voila, Dr. Kurtz," she beams. "A window to the xenomorph's soul. Do you want to take a look for yourself?"

"Look!" I point out. My eagle-eyes picked up something alarming. "It stopped bleeding! It's already starting to heal up."

"Just go ahead for now, Darwin," Kurtz suggests smartly. "I can always watch the footage later. Proceed."

"As you wish." She turns her attention back to the instrument, activating the drill again despite the alien's shrieks, and adjusts her chin on the rest, looking through the objective into the alien's skull. We all hear her surprised gasp simultaneously. "I'll be damned!"

"What?" our three voices answer her in unison.

"There's a second… call it 'hull'. Just like the outer skin." She turns the objective around. There's a thin space between the two, where the acid is." A huge smile forms on her lips as she continues to explore the ET's inside. "If we're lucky, the acid is just a defense mechanism and its blood will be much easier to work with." She turns the micro-lens around again, ignorant of her victim's shrill shriek. "I'm almost sure of it! It's a classic system – some animals use poison to do it, this one uses acid. The high-pressured liquid circulates in this … inner chamber, and if the outer hull is punctured, it sprays out and kills the potential enemy. What is this?" She attempts to twist the tube, but it won't move.

"It healed up," I state the obvious. "The tissue has grown back around the drill-pump, and now you're stuck."

"Very well," Darwin replies. "We'll leave it in then. And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, let's wish us luck! I'm going deeper." The creature's screams tell us she's triggered the beam again. Smoke rises from the tiny hole.

"Don't kill it!" Kurtz voices, sounding worried. "You know how valuable-"

"I won't. I seriously doubt I could kill it with this drill – even if I drilled right into its brain… if it has a brain, and not a CPU or something like it."

"Please," the station manager groans, but he hasn't felt what we both felt. There's something about these creatures that's unsettling familiar, and at the same time not. If it really is a machine – it's sort of an animal brother to me, right? Part nature, part science? The best of both worlds?

Inwardly I'm shaking my head over myself and tell myself to keep my mind on our dangerous undertaking right here. Yes, I do believe we still have to be careful. Even though the thing is strapped to the table and under a stasis blanket and all, I've seen too much of them to take any chances. I don't even order the guards in the corridor to relax, or to put their safeties back on. The moment we underestimate those things, we're dead. It's a lecture that's going to stick with me for as long as we will be handling them.

"Bullseye!" Darwin yells, uncharacteristically excited. But hell, she's been out of character ever since Carter Burke brought us these aliens. On the monitor that allows us to follow her progress, I see dark gray well up inside the tube. Is that its blood? From the way the thing's freaking out before us, it must be. "Look! This must be its brain!"

We all stare in amazement at the high-definition picture the mini-camera inside the protective tube delivers. To an outsider, it would be an undecipherable mishmash of different shades of gray, white and black, moving, pulsing and throbbing in a steady rhythm. To us, it's a two-dimensional map to one of the greatest treasures in the whole wide universe.

"Dammit, there must be a way of-" Darwin turns and twitches the drill-pump until she's able to move it around a few degrees further. The dark tissue she means stretches on over the edge of the little camera's horizon. I blink, trying to get a clearer visual. For brain tissue, this looks strange. Very regular and hard, not like soft human gray matter. And aren't those little sparks I see? Like… electrical sparks? It's impossible to tell.

I take my headset off. The alien's shrieks are so loud, I can't hear anything over them. I could reduce my audio-input, but then I wouldn't be able to hear my group of humans here anymore. It's better this way.

"Discovering your heart for animals, Isis?" Kurtz teases me tonelessly, probably to divert us from drawing our own conclusions about his stone-set features, while his protégé presses her face against the objective as if she wanted to climb inside.

"I can't go in further," she announces reluctantly. "I'm releasing the probe now. Is it ready, Skin?"

"Probe #1 online and ready for action," my colleague reports dutifully, pressing the 'Record'-button. Kurtz narrows his eyes, and I see him tightening. Everything's going so well… could it really be this test will supply us with everything we dreamt of? I see Darwin's grip grow stronger on the joystick .

"Releasing probe… now!" She leans back and shifts her attention towards the monitors, where we can see the probe's progress in the alien's body. The newest in nano-technology, and it too performs outstandingly! I can't help but smile in deep satisfaction, and from the expression in those fair blue eyes I can tell, the young genius is satisfied with my work, too. The probe was my project, after all. Her glance stays on me for a few moments longer, before it goes up over my shoulder to the readouts the little internal spy delivers.

"Its body has room temperature," Darwin states cooly. "And we're picking up electrical emissions."

"From its… CPU?" Kurtz asks, entirely serious now. She shakes her head.

"It's way too early to say." Visibly forcing herself to take her eyes off the monitors, she spins around in her chair to look at the station manager. "I'd like to record its vitals over the next 12 hours at first. It will be easier to draw conclusions if we accumulate more data." Her gaze finds the alien again. "I also want to plant further probes in its body. Let them do the work. And I will secure some tissue samples of both the inner and outer hull, the … other liquid from inside, which I believe will be their real blood, and maybe some of the other issue like muscle, bone or ligaments I will come across when I'm planting the additional probes. Do you agree with this procedure, Dr. Kurtz?"

Her voice is so neutral that he can't hear how much it takes her to ask him for his permission. I can't detect it in her voice either, but I know… Anyhow, her plan sounds so reasonable, he can't help but nod.

"Good. You collect the data, first, and we all meet in your office tomorrow, 10.00 a.m., and see what we got."

"Splendid."

But there's still something that bothers him. A curt nod towards the alien.

"Do we keep it strapped on the table like this? Or are you going to release it into the hive? The probes will record no matter what we'll do… and the data might give us a bigger spectrum if its able to move around."

"I know." She inhales and follows his pensive gaze. "But for now, I would like to keep it handy like this. We can always release it later tomorrow, but if we find something of interest, I would like to be able to do additional tests on it without delay. Let the guards watch it for the night. They can do shifts - two of them at once in the room should be enough. The other three could sleep in the guest office and relieve them of their duty in about five hours."

A doubtful glance from Kurtz.

"Only two guards? Isn't that a bit-"

"We're going to keep it under the stasis blanket and strapped to the table," Darwin assures him. "It won't be able to do anything. You know yourself it would have done so already if it could. It wouldn't have let me drill a hole into its head like this if it could have prevented it. And even if it should develop additional powers in the night, we'll instruct the guards to fire as soon as it tries something. I don't see any risk there at all." Kurtz looks at me.

"What do you say, Isis?"

Funny, I feel flattered. He's asking me for my opinion! I shrug.

"I agree with Darwin. It's secured. It won't be able to give us any nasty surprises."

Now all four of us stare through the window. It looks harmless enough, lying on the metal plate with all those ties strapping it down. Some long seconds of expectant silence pass, until Phooka's landlord finally gives us his approval.

"Fine. We do it your way, Darwin."

A quick glance at his watch. I don't have to look to know it's 9.55 p.m. My inner clock tells me so.

"You release the other probes, and then we'll continue tomorrow at 1000 hours. Until then, see that you get some rest. All of you. I need a staff that knows what it's doing tomorrow."

We all nod dutifully and get up from our seats, ready to leave the room in his wake. Interesting, how not one of us is able to go without one last look over our shoulders… time for a short coffee-break before we will further invade alien territory and deploy our espionage unit into its veins. Another half an hour, and we should be done.

* * *

**Hadley's Hope, Day 9, 2100 hours**

Hicks' gaze follows Hudson as the ComTech settles down on his mattress in Operations. He watches his comrade putting down his pulse-rifle which has to be empty for sure. Mixed emotions of anger, frustration and worry battle behind his non-telling features while he's recalling the incidents of the last half an hour… the single alien that attempted to pry open the deactivated doors into Operations. The empty RSS canons' alarm and Newt's high-pitched scream as he ran through the room, readying his shotgun without looking. Everybody screaming, and then the view of the ugly silhouette standing in the opened door, ready to pounce – the explosion of the 12-gauge's shot, the burnt stench surrounding him, and the alien flying backwards, being hit square in the head. Another shot from Vasquez, just to be on the safe side, as she met him at the door to see whether it had been the only one – and then the burst of bullets from Hudson from behind straight through them, the angry bellow of his pulse rifle even drowning out his panicked yelling.

If it hadn't been for their trained reflexes, they would have gone out together with the alien that exact second. They had both dived to the floor, practically feeling the pellets grazing their backs. Just a moment later, Hudson had stopped firing… but not because he had regained control, but because he had run out of ammo, his finger on the trigger still twitching, his mouth shooting forth a gust of unintelligible walla consisting of an assortment of curses, eyes bulging in naked, sheer panic.

Hicks hadn't thought it possible, but the sight of his long-time brother-in-arms completely over the edge had scared him even more than the alien at the door. It had taken Hudson atleast another ten seconds before he had noticed he had run dry. And yet another fifteen to realize everybody had been staring at him.

"It's dead," he had mumbled to himself then, slowly letting the weapon sink. Meeting the other's eyes. "It's dead. We killed it. Nothing to worry about." Louder, explanatory, but sounding hollow and numb. And with a short nod, he had made his way over to his mattress.

Hicks inhales deeply, feeling awful. They're looking at him now. Waiting for him to do something. Waiting for him to make a decision he hates to make, but there really is no other way… is there? Giving himself a mental kick, he steps up to the Private's lair, biting his lower lip and feeling sick to his stomach for having to do this.

"Will?" Maybe addressing him by his first name will do some good here… because he already knows it's bound to get ugly. The ComTech cranes his neck back to look up. "I need you in MedLab right now. Come with me."

"But –" Hudson starts, but interrupts himself. Yes, it is the middle of his downtime. His shift won't begin for another 3 hours… but the shadow that starts crawling onto his face tells Hicks rationality's finally caught up with his friend again. It's the unmistakable look of a bad conscience he's seeing on his comrade's face as he gets up to follow him down the corridor. Hicks doesn't have to look back to feel the others' gazes on his back. They pass the length of it in silence, and when they reach MedLab, he hits the switch and lets Hudson pass through the door before heenters the room himself.

It shuts behind him with a pneumatic hiss, and the silence becomes leaden for an almost unbearable moment before he turns his gaze to Hudson, summoning all his remaining coolness and restraint to master this bitch of a task, but even before he can open his mouth, Hudson cuts him off.

"I know what you're about to say, Hicks. I know. And you're right."

A good start. Maybe this will go better than he thought.

"Good." Hicks crosses his arms under his chest and holds eye-contact with his trusted team member of many years. Seems as if Hudson's back from the brink of panic.

"I know I've been... not quite myself lately."

'_Excuse me?'_ He remains calm, and comments dryly: "That would be an understatement."

"Damn, Hicks, look..." Hudson rings his hands and begins pacing the room like a tiger on Ecstasy. "I know I fucked up, okay? I know that. But I'm working on it, man, really. Just- just give me a chance! It's just that..." He fights for the right words and finally shrugs. „I'm scared shitless, okay? There, you have it. That's all."

"_That's all_?" The two simple words make Hicks' blood pressure rocket. Okay, it's _not_ going to go well!

"Yeah, man. You know... it's a pretty fucked-up situation we're in. And yeah, I'm scared."

"So this is your excuse?" All of a sudden the expression of mere concern on Hicks's face shifts into open anger, something that's a rarity for the always controlled and reasonable Corporal. "Dammit, Will, you waste a complete clip on an already dead enemy even though we're extremely tight on ammo, you just let loose even though Vasquez and I were in your direct field of fire, you don't even stop when you see us going down, you don't stop when you're out of ammo, yelling like a madman and scaring the living daylights out of everybody… and all you can say is 'you're scared'?"

Open disbelief stands in his eyes.

"Shit, Hudson, we've been over this before! We're all scared, every single one of us, but you're way over the top! Even the girl handles this better than you! You're in hysterics! You lost it completely back there, and it's about time you recognize it and start cleaning up your act like you promised, 'cause if you don't, I'll have to do something about it!"

„Really? Like what?"

Hudson's eyes narrow, and Hicks feels an icy chill trickle down his spine. He doesn't like the look on his comrade's face. It reminds him of a cornered animal. Beneath his anger he can sense an alarming uneasiness, common sense warning him to be careful. To stay calm and not let the situation escalate any further. Something's very wrong with Hudson, and he needs to keep his cool here. Isn't this what the others admire him for so much? Raising his voice will simply freak out Hudson even more... if that's possible.

„You don't want to know, Hudson. I don't want to think about it myself, and I don't _want_ to have to think about it - but I'll have to if you continue to go apeshit on every crisis. Come on, think about it. Chill out. Pull yourself together again and start dealing with the situation. We need you. We have to work together. It's the only way to come out of this situation in one piece."

Hudson studies his hands as if they were very interesting all of a sudden. He doesn't look at his superior.

"Do you still believe in Santa, Hicks?"

"What?" The Corporal lifts his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Do you actually believe we'll get out of here alive? Come on! Who's not in touch with reality here?"

Before he knows it, Hicks takes one angry step in the PFC's direction. A white-hot burst of anger threatens to overwhelm him, and it's only with the last reserve of his patience that he manages to reply with bitter sarcasm: "It's funny _you_ should say that, Will. My definition of sanity doesn't exactly include your behavior back there!"

"Fuck it man, I told you! Are you deaf? I was aiming for the alien! Not for you or Vasquez!"

"The alien, Hudson, was dead already! And Vasquez and myself almost, too, even though you didn't mean to! I practically felt the wind from the bullets on my back! Vasquez, too! In fact, one even grazed her arm! Thanks to you!"

"I knew what I was doing," Hudson stubbornly insists. Hicks stares at him, and his lips become a thin, bloodless line:

"Just a minute ago you admitted fucking up. Which of the two is it, _Private_?" His stare becomes icy. "I can't figure you, Hudson. I don't know what's wrong with you. We've been through a lot of shit together in the past, and yet I've never seen you like this. What is it? What's so special about this situation that you can't deal with it?"

He sees the disbelieving expression in Hudson's features, then surprise.

"You're not seriously asking, right?"

"You bet I am."

The ComTech slowly shakes his head in disbelief and stops in his tracks for a second.

"Holy shit, Hicks, I don't believe it! How can you ask? I mean... you know what happened! It's all around us! How can you ask me this after all you've seen? I just don't believe this, man!"

"You better believe it, Hudson. We've been through hell a couple of times before, and you did just fine. What the fuck is the difference here? Help me understand."

"Jesus, man... They're not even human!" He starts pacing again.

"So what?"

"_So what? So fucking what_?" Hudson shakes his head and rings his hands in growing frustration and anger, grasping for the right words. "You know what they do once they got you..."

"Yeah, I know. I agree it's ugly, but then again, being tortured by humans ain't much fun either. We've been in this situation, and you coped. No problem then. But here... I don't know, I still don't get it. So, they're bugs. Ugly bugs, too. But I don't see why human enemies should be preferable. They do pretty sick things to you, too."

"This is worse."

"No it's not! It's just in your head. I mean, do you really think being torn apart by a grenade or being burnt alive in a plasma fire hurts any less than being killed by those things? I don't think so. Anyway, I can't let you run amuck like this. No way."

A long, awkward moment ensues his words. A long moment that has them both staring at each other.

"What are you going to do? Lock me up?" Hudson all but whispers the words.

"No. I won't do that... at least not yet." Hicks doesn't like the next part, but he keeps a straight face, not giving away his twisted emotions by any sign. „But I'm afraid you'll have to give me your gun."

There now. It's out in the daylight. Let's see how he takes it.

Hudson ignores his outstretched hand and just stares back at him. His voice is a low whisper. Intense.

"You can't have it."

Silence. Hicks swallows, not wanting to believe his ears. Not wanting to think about what he's going to have to do now. Man, there's _got_ to be a way around this...! He lowers his voice to – what he hopes – will come off as a warm and understanding tone.

"Come on, Will, don't make it worse than it is. Just-"

"Spare the 'Will'. You're not getting it."

"I'm not asking you a favor here, Hudson."

To hell with the 'warm and understanding touch'. As much as he dreads the next part, there is no way to avoid it. Hicks switches to official. Rules. They are Marines. Marines live by rules. And the first rule is: If a higher rank calls you 'frog', you jump. Wherever he wants you to. As high as he wants you to. _Without discussion_. As much as he hates it, but it appears as if his friend needs to be reminded of his place in the universe. "I am giving you a direct order. God knows I don't want to pull rank on you, but you leave me no choice. _Give... me... your..._ _gun_."

Unwittingly, the Private covers the butt of his weapon with his hand in a protective gesture. He takes a step back.

"I'd be a sitting duck without it, and you know it."

"Yes, I know."

"Oh, so you just don't give a shit, huh?"

"I don't like it either, Hudson, but I would like it even less if you blew one of us away in another fit of panic. You're forcing me. I am responsible for every single one of us, and I am determined to bring us all back ... alive... including you, no matter what. Right now you are no help, so I have to act. It's that easy. It has nothing to do with giving or not giving a shit. If anything, I probably give _too much_ of a shit! So, let me have it:"

Hudson's reply is short, firm and unmistakable.

"No."

Hicks inhales sharply. This is not going well... He pauses, considers his options. Not that he's got any. When he finally speaks, it's with a dangerously low voice.

"Hudson, you know what you're doing? You know what this will get you in once we get back?"

"_If _we get back, you can do whatever you like! But we won't! Whatever you wanna tell me about military jail, save it! 'Cause you can't scare me more than I already am." He carefully eyes his unexpected adversary. "You _would _ do this, right? Hand me over? Have me court-martialed?"

Hicks sigh rises from the depths of his soul. Man, he had no idea _how _ugly it would get!

"Hudson, why are we discussing this? You know as well as I do how fundamental the rules are that we live by. If everybody – if Vasquez and you, and I , and maybe Gorman, too, just did whatever we wanted to do – if nobody followed any orders anymore – we would be long dead. We _need_ to function as a unit. I can't have one rogue running around working against everything I want to maintain. We need that order, Hudson. It's the most important thing right now. I can't afford to take any chances. Not with you, not with anybody."

Hudson nods, obviously not surprised.

"You know, Hicks, what I find absolutely amazing?" He doesn't get a reply. "I didn't think you'd become such an asshole once you were in command. Really, it amazes me."

A moment of heavy, expectant silence before the kettle of Hicks' temperament finally boils over.

"Oh yeah? You ain't seen nothing yet, Hudson. This is nothing compared to what's coming to you if you _DON'T SHUT UP_ right now and _GIVE ME THE DAMNED GUN_!" Hicks' legendary patience is coming to an end right now. It doesn't improve his mood that his opponent has by now lost his insecurity and replaced it with arrogance. Taking another step forward, he effectively cuts off Hudson from the exit. Now the Private has to pass him if he wants to leave Medical. He sees Hudson's hand tightening its grip around the 38mm and realizes with a jolt that he himself is unarmed. He left the pistol on the console back in Operations.

"If you want it, come and get it from me."

"Don't make it worse, Will. You don't want me to take it from you in a fight..."

"Who says there would be a fight?" Hudson's tone is cool and strangely detached now. He's snapped, Hicks is sure now. His skin feels frozen. "I might just blow your brains out, you know? You're not armed. Surely you must have noticed."

Hicks' throat feels too narrow all of a sudden.

"Listen to yourself, Will. You're completely over the edge. You're crazy. You're a danger to yourself and to us!"

"Yeah, man, and you better believe it. If you still want the gun, come and get it. But I warned you."

Hicks tenses, his body becomes rigid, but he doesn't move. He's not stupid. He knows he can usually count on his fighting abilities. In a normal fight, Hudson would never stand a chance against him, and in training never has. But this isn't a normal situation. The Private's freaked way beyond any sense of reason, and if he doesn't plan every single one of his moves, he _will _get shot, no doubt about that. He needs to wait for an opportunity to take control. Has to wait for it, or to create it himself. Maybe more reasoning is being called for here. Maybe there's still a chance to calm his comrade down if he just finds the right words. _'Yeah, right,'_ a nasty cynical voice in the back of his head sniggers: _'And while we're at it, we might as well try to talk the aliens out of slaughtering us. Or eating us. Or using us for their breeding purposes. Or whatever it is they'd like to do to us.'_

"Hudson-"

He sees the Private's head turn just the slightest bit before he hears the hissing of the door behind his back. By then he's already in mid-jump, acting on reflex, catapulting himself toward the distracted ComTech and lunging for the gun, which already swings back towards his face. He crashes into his opponent like a ram, the impact shoving him violently against the security-glass window, causing it to vibrate. Impossibly, Hudson holds on to the gun. A thunderous crash right beside his left ear, then a warm, burning sensation, as the muzzle fire singes his cheek and leaves him deaf for a moment. He forces it away from his face, hardly believing the savage strength Hudson's fighting him with, and yanks the hand with the weapon against the edge of the window frame. Hard. The Private groans, but holds on.

"Let go, Hudson!" Hicks has an iron grip now and forces the weaker man down, causing him to wince through clenched teeth.

"Fuck you!"

Hicks feels someone's presence behind him, but resists the urge to turn his head. Just one mistake here and he will be a dead man. He forces the Private's arm into an awkward position and hears him suck in air painfully.

"Let go or I'll break your arm! I mean it!"

Hudson tries not to scream, but the pain in the shoulder joint is too great.

"Stop it!'

"Then drop the gun, Hudson! Let go!" He holds on, and suddenly the 38 hits the floor with a metallic clatter, followed by the thunder of a second shot caused by the impact. The bullet embeds itself into the security glass of the front window and becomes the center of a cobweb of fissures.

Okay, now... Hicks feels finally safe enough to check on the situation behind him. He tilts his head, still holding Hudson in a fierce grip. It's Vasquez who has entered the room unsuspecting and is now standing there with the expression of utter confusion on her face. It's obvious she doesn't know what to make of the situation. He can't blame her.

Hicks kicks the weapon over to the smart-gun operator. It slides over the steel floor and lands in her hand as she kneels down to pick it up. He gives her a curt nod.

"Okay, Will, I'm going to release you now. Behave."

He quickly steps back to put a little distance between himself and his comrade, ready for a new attack. But Hudson doesn't resume the fight. Instead, he sinks to his knees, slowly, holding his hurting shoulder without even turning around. His body begins to shake.

"You both okay?"

Hicks doesn't turn around when he hears the smart-gun operator step up beside him.

"Yeah..." His rage is over, the adrenaline flood subsiding, but the situation hasn't exactly improved. There's still the hard decision waiting for him. He knows he's really got no choice, not after this scene, but still... he feels extremely uneasy.

"Come on, Will... get up," he says quietly in an attempt to sound understanding and comforting, as to not freak out the ComTech even more. He even offers his hand as the Private finally begins to rise to his feet, but the well-meant gesture is useless. When he finally looks up, Hudson's eyes are burning with a mixture of horror, defeat and hate.

"They'll kill me, and it will be your fault."

"They won't kill you, Will. They'll never get in here. Now get up."

Hudson doesn't move.

"You're going to lock me up now, aren't you?"

Hicks nods, reluctantly, and ignores Vasquez, who's watching him from the side in disbelief.

"Hicks, he will be totally defenseless if they –"

His head snaps around to her

"First: they are not here yet. Second: He will be in the safest room of the entire complex. It doesn't even have a ventilation shaft. And I'm not going to take any more chances with him. He's got a full-blown nervous breakdown, and as long as he keeps behaving like this, I won't let him run around. He almost killed us both today, and I'm going to make damned sure there won't be a next time, and neither will he endanger anyone else."

"But how could I be dangerous to anybody without my-"

"I won't discuss this with you, Hudson. Now get the hell up and stop getting on my nerves."

"But what if-"

"_Get up, dammit!"_ Hicks feels control slipping away from him again. Is he the only one left with a working mind here? Impatiently he grabs the still complaining Private by his jacket and yanks him to his feet, pushes him towards the door.

"Hey, hey – wait!" Hudson stumbles and barely avoids falling over one of the chairs they knocked down during their fight. He tries to spin around, panic finding its way into his eyes and voice again. "Please, don't do this! I'll chill out, I promise! But please don't-"

"You've had your chances, Hudson. You wasted every single one of them."

"But I promise-"

"Right now you're not in a position to promise anything. You couldn't keep it if you wanted to."

"Hicks?" Vasquez asks from behind, struggling to keep up with the two men as they rush down the corridor. "I could take care of him. Watch him. You don't have to –"

The Corporal's impatient gesture cuts her off in mid-sentence. She can practically feel his anger, even if she can't see his face. The meaning is clear: 'End of discussion'. She knows better than to question his decision openly again so she shuts up and watches silently as they come to a halt in front of the heavy door of the storage room. It glides open when Hicks punches in the code on the panel. Hudson's slipping rapidly back into the realms of complete panic now.

"Hicks, please! Don't do this to me, man! I can't stand being alone in there! It's dark! Please, don't lock me up! Please! I won't do anything, man! I'll be as harmless as a dead fly, I promise! I swear!"

Hicks pushes him into the dark room and hits the power switch.

"You've got as much light in here as you need, Hudson. And enough air for days. There is absolutely no way for the aliens to get in, and you'll have plenty to eat. You won't lack a thing. And if you really do come down from the trip you're on, I might even be willing to let you out again. But until then ..." the door began to close – "you stay in here. And that's final."

"Hicks –" The Private's plea is cut off by the door. An awkward silence ensues. Hicks' eyes are still glued to the door, but he isn't there. His gaze goes right through, unseeing. Something has to come from the female smartgun-operator, something he probably isn't ready for, because it will express the doubts he feels himself. But Vasquez remains silent, and as Hicks turns around to face her, he sees his own uncertainty on her face.

"Vasquez –"

"I know." The usually quiet Mexican gives him what he hasn't dared to hope for – a small, appreciative nod. "It's probably the right thing to do." _'Even if we hate it.'_

Vague relief wells up inside of him, but still –

"But he's right. If they get in and kill us, he'll die in there. He'll suffocate." Running both hands through his matted hair, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His ears are still ringing from the shot, but apart from that, he's okay. Outwardly. On the inside, he feels like a mess. Not sure of his decision at all. Hudson's scared witless. What he needs would be someone to calm him down again, someone to assure him that things will turn out okay. What he doesn't need is being locked up in a windowless cell, left to his fears. What kind of a comrade is he to do this to Hudson?

"Hicks-" It's not like Vasquez to reach out, but right now she senses her superior – someone who has been through the dirt with her and whom she has been trusting for years to watch her back – could use a little encouragement. During all the years she's known him, he's always been the one with the cool head and the right decisions. If he's going to start questioning himself now that it counts more than ever, things will end ugly for sure. So even while she doesn't like the idea of her friend being locked up, she's got to back up Hicks. He's probably right. Hudson is a danger to them, at least in this state of mind. There's no way of permanently observing him without freaking out the others through presence alone. She's seen Ripley's face. Or the child's. Frankly, she had been scared herself to see her friend charge into the room and letting loose a flurry of bullets into their direction. They've got enough to worry about with the aliens. The last thing they need is having to worry about Hudson at the same time. Hicks is right, period.

"It's okay." Her dark brown eyes meet his, affirmation written in them. However brief her affirmation is, it communicates a lot more.'I know how hard this decisionwas for you. I know you hate it yourself. I know you're wondering whether this will change thingsbetween us. It won't. I'm with you on this.' She can tell he's received her message when she sees the hint of gratitude in his expression. He nods weakly and forces himself to get away from the door.

"Well…" He sighs and inhales deeply. No use in staying here and brooding forever. "Nobody said this would be easy, right?"

"Man, we're Marines," she offers in an attempt to cheer him up as she falls into place at his side, matching his strides. "'Easy' ain't our department."


	9. Chapter 9 - Downhill

**ALIENS: CHRYSALIS (Book 1)**

**Chapter 9: Downhill**

* * *

**'THE ZOO', Phooka Station**

Birds. He hears birds. Unmistakably. Seagulls – seagulls? - greeting the new day somewhere in the distance. The rushing of waves meeting the sand of a beach… A nice noise, soothing... but completely off. So off it wakes him immediately. How should there be any seagulls on Hadley's... Hicks opens his eyes, and even though the scene they show him is all fake, the realization that he has been dreaming again seeps into his sleep-drunken consciousness. He's no longer on Acheron. But it sure as hell ain't home, either.

Craning back his neck, his gaze finds the red-glowing digital numbers on the entertainment center's clock in the midst of this holo-paradise he's lying in. 7.30. A.M., by the looks of it. Something flutters close by on his left, and he halfway expects to feel the current of air such movement would inevitably leave in the real world, but of course, there's nothing of that sort. Because this is fuckin' Phooka, the way of the future! Where even nature is artificial, and people get locked up without a reason… yeah, and they're being watched 24/7, too. His glance wanders up to the camera with its ever-glowing light and rests there for a few moments longer, imagining a bespectacled, bald scientist with hard, probing eyes at the other end of the line… but it could just as well be that synthetic. Who knows? Who cares? It's not like he can do anything about it anyway. Best just to ignore it's even there.

Groaning, Hicks massages his temples, still feeling drowsy and inclined to go back to sleep. Why should he get up at all, really? What is there to get up for?

_'Coffee!'_ An acidic smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Has it come to that? Can coffee be the only thing left that's making life still worth living for him? Surely he can do better. He snorts, lying back on the couch – _'I didn't even get the sheets out last night ?'_ – and follows the path of another virtual seagull with his eyes, while his hand searches for the remote and finally finds it somewhere under a cushion. Let's have a dose of reality. Let's get a taste of it. Sooner or later he's going to have to deal with the truth, anyway.

His thumb hits the 'Off'-switch, and the rushing vanishes along with the wildlife, leaving him in utter silence. It's so silent, in fact, that he hears his own breathing… even the pumping of his heart, he believes. There's absolutely no noise, nothing from the corridor or the window. The silence is oppressive. The room appears to be completely sound-proof. Hicks frowns. Hell of an idea to turn off the illuso. One of the worst he's ever had! Apparently, he's not yet ready for the cold, hard truth. Carefully, he turns on his stomach to inspect the entertainment center a little more thoroughly, and – after a short run-through of the programs – manages to find some pleasant atmosphere without the images. Audio, only. Let's gradually reduce the level of self-delusion.

Drawing a deep breath, he forces himself to sit up and swings his legs over the side of the sofa. It's cold PVC under his feet, no carpet. Not even here, in the so-called living room. '_Easier to clean_,' a voice in the back of his mind tells him. If you get sick from whatever they do to you, they don't have to rip out the carpet each time… or if you cut your wrists out of desperation…

_'Man, stop it!'_ he tells himself angrily. What's he doing here, thinking these pitch-black thoughts? Right now, the best mind-set will probably be ignorance. To just observe, but not to feel this place. To look for weaknesses… and when he's found them, to use them…_'to escape?'_ he snorts cynically. Very funny. He hasn't seen much of this place so far, but what he's seen has already given him the impression of a fortress. A high-security prison.

Forcing these depressing thoughts down into his sub-conscious, Hicks gives himself another mental kick and comes to a stand, delicately balancing on his good leg while he gropes for the crutches and limps over to the bathroom. The light activates automatically and grants him a view of a very neutral, very naked, small room. Everything is of a very bright blue, almost white, with no contrast whatsoever. Even the towels next to the sink are of the same color. To the left is the toilet, and the shower is pressed into the far corner. The functional design of the room reminds Hicks vividly of the Sulaco's interior. All function, no superfluous luxury, not even for the eyes. Nothing fancy or friendly. He sighs inwardly. Okay, just what the hell did he expect? The fucking Hilton?

He takes a leak and then limps over to the sink to wash his hands… and can't help looking into the mirror and his own haggard face. Ancient eyes muster him. The oldest eyes he's ever seen. And he doesn't like their expression: defeated, hopeless… weak. Where is his old fighting spirit? Left dying on Acheron? In that tunnel? The memory of those black days is ready to jump at him, and it takes a massive effort to suppress it. He needs to concentrate on something else, like… his skin. His _new_ skin. What he can see of it between the burnt remains of the old skin looks smooth like a newborn's. Yeah, it is amazing what this doctor did, but still…

Hicks picks a loose flake of skin between thumb and index finger and cautiously pulls it off, strangely feeling like a reptile. He musters his slightly reddened cheek for a moment and then flicks the remains on his finger into the toilet. Another skeptic glance at his image. He looks like a complete mess: hair too long and unkempt, a stubble of five days… yes, indeed it's been five days since Keisha took pity in him and ridded him of the beard he had grown during his weeks in hell. A short glance over the metal board under the mirror reveals no shaving gear of any kind. A toothbrush and paste, that's all. They didn't even leave him a comb or-

He stops his train of thought. No use in getting all worked up over nothing. How he looks should be the least of his worries right now… but now that he sees his face up close for the first time in ages, he sees how much the beard actually diverted him from realizing how scrawny he's become. Scratching his chin and letting his fingertips glide over the spots of new skin, he feels how prominent his cheekbones still are. According to Hikahi, he managed to put on three pounds again during his stay in Sickbay, but what are three pounds, when he's lost close to twenty? There's no flesh on his bones, no muscles, nothing. A fucking scarecrow, that's what he is! A skinny, pitiful, hollow-eyed, weak scarecrow… and he wants to escape from here? What a riot! The only way for him to do it would probably be to press himself through the grill over the shower drain. Shaking his head in self-disgust, he rids himself of his clothes, leans the crutches against the tiled wall and limps to the shower.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, he's dressed in another one of these blue outfits he found in the sorry excuse for a closet, and ready to leave his room… yet strangely hesitant. He's going to get some answers today, right? The other… inmates… he's about to meet should know more than he does. At least he hopes so. A last scan of the room shows him a blinking light on the communicator, and he hops over, curiously, to look who called him. There are two messages on the machine, both regarding his schedule for the day: Keisha is going to visit him for his daily rehab session at 1700 hours… following Isis , who will grace him with her presence at 1200 hours.

He wonders what she could possibly want from him, but before he can venture off into further musings, his stomachs rumbles and reminds him that it is indeed time to claim his breakfast… before it's eventually all gone. _'Yeah, right… like anyone else would eat this stuff,_' he reminds himself, frowning, as he makes his way to the door… and miraculously, it really opens for him. _'Just a small step for me, but a big step for mankind!"_ he jokes inwardly, not recalling which incident it was that sparked the historic quote. He steps out into the corridor.

The holographic meadow he's been wading through the day before is still active, but the atmosphere has changed. Now it's a summer morning with a clear blue sky, and the dew is still glistening on the grass. Insects are buzzing by busily, and he hears birds in the trees, even the mild breeze in the branches. Hicks comes to a halt, nearly choking on bittersweet emotions. That darn homesickness… but he has to admit, whoever programmed this illusion knew his stuff.

But of course. This is Weyland Yutani, after all. They're not known to hire idiots. The noise of a discussion from somewhere down the corridor wakes him from his musings. Several voices, male and female. He can't make out the actual words, but from the way they're echoing he can already tell that the room – must be big. More a hall, rather. It's ridiculous, but his body tenses as he makes his way down the corridor. What ever lies ahead of him, these are the people he'll have to deal with over the next months, and the facilities, as well. This is going to be his home and neighborhood, whether he likes it or not. The corridor ends, and he rounds the corner… and finds himself standing at the end – or beginning – of...

_'It's a fucking ballroom!'_

Again he stops, knowing full well how he must look to others in his construction-worker's outfit, his deranged appearance and the crutches at his side, gaping at them with his eyes opened wide wonder. So what? He takes his time, letting his gaze glide up to the high ceiling. The same blue sky as in the corridor, only massively more of it. And there's even a sun at one end of the room, just as realistic as all the rest. The room itself is at least three levels high with walkways and additional doors that either lead to God-knows-where or are locked. Holographic trees are scattered throughout the hall, and under one of them, Hicks sees the tables and benches that accommodate his future neighbors –all of which are staring at him in something that looks like fear – Fear? – over the distance.

He even sees one of them twitch as he turns around and detects him. The expression of fear, however, changes into skeptic curiosity. Apparently he isn't the one they feared to see, so Hicks ignores them for the moment and continues his visual survey. Impressive, really. Big, spacious… and equipped with surveillance cameras on every angle he can see. Big brother's watching you, literally. The sight sets off the antsy feeling in his stomach again, the distinct notion of being the rat in the labyrinth on it's way to the cheese_._

_'Let's throw an obstacle in its way and see how the rat behaves, shall we?' _

"I want the beach," an angry female voice complains. Apparently, the other inhabitants of this realm have recovered from the initial shock enough to start bickering with each other again. "You said we'd change it today. I'm sick and tired of this garden-stuff! Gimme the remote!"

"Well, come and get it, Chouri! You get it, you can change it."

"You don't want me to do that, Chad, believe me!"

"You want this?"

Without warning, the scenery changes from park to deserted beach – and back – and to the beach – Hicks has to close his eyes to keep his senses from going nuts. Hell, he used to be more adapted to these high-tech toys. His new sensitivity makes him doubt again whether he will ever become his old self again. It's annoying. It's also annoying he has to put up with this group of people. Given the choice, he'd rather be alone. He's not in the mood for company, really. And if they keep on pestering each other like this…

"Asshole!"

"Stop it, both of you!" another – male – voice injects, sounding riled. "You're getting on my nerves! It stays the way it is now. You're not children anymore."

Hicks blinks and sees the scenery has changed back to the park. Okay… whatever. He's hungry now, so he limps up to the arrangement of tables under the biggest of the non-existent trees and scans his surroundings for the Autochef, detecting it under the cover of a little, wooden holo-hut. Unbelieving and annoyed at the same time, he shakes his head to himself. God, what is this place? The Disneyland of jails? How cynical of Weyland Yutani to mask their prison as some sort of paradise.

He comes to a halt in front of the machine and shifts his weight to his good leg to free one hand and press the switch, curious to see what it will serve him. How should it know that he's on a 'special diet'? Maybe he'll get his coffee after all. There's no way for Hikahi to know, right? But to his disappointment, the tray delivered to him a few seconds later features the usual array of colored water, also known as 'tea', some salty crackers and a bowl of the creamy stuff he's already familiar with… Except it's brownish today. Chocolate-flavored?

He tries it with his fingertip, taking the tray with one hand… and grins in the direction of the camera, surprising himself. A ray of light through the dark clouds of his mood. Coffee-flavored. Heck, it's a start, right? If this isn't just a coincidence, it's probably Keisha's doing. He had been pestering her with his desire for a nice, hot coffee for the whole, past week, even though he had known that it was still too early for him. But man, he'd fancy one right now. Or 'craving for it', rather. He'd even accept the stomach cramps afterwards. Telling himself to ask the young nurse later on for how long he'll need to lay low food-wise, he places the tray on the table next to the AutoChef , since handling both the crutches and his breakfast at the same time would require an acrobatic act he doesn't feel ready for just yet.

The others are still watching him, probably waiting to find out what kind of a guy he is. Tame? Or a problem? Looking up, he let's out a curt "'Morning." – and shovels a spoon full of the brown glob into his mouth, taking in the appearances of his new neighbors.

There are ten, no, twelve more unlucky beings sharing these premises with him, sitting in groups around the tables and watching him. Two women, one of them a teenage girl, the rest men. He feels some vague relief wash over him. They may be inmates, but only here. These people don't look like professional convicts. They're not criminals. God knows what he expected. He certainly doesn't deem it beneath W.Y. to buy or kidnap entire wagon-loads of sentenced murderers. Human scum nobody's going to miss… But these people…

His attention sizes up the girl, first. 'Chouri', he remembers having heard her name. She's the one he heard when he entered, and the annoyance is still visible in her hard features. She's thin, of average height and lanky, moving as if she doesn't feel comfortable in her body. Not very female at all. In some way, she reminds him a little bit of Dietrich. The same edgy face, although they'd definitely kick her out of the service or whoop her ass if she ever dared to appear there looking like she does: her long hair dyed bright red and looking washed out, showing dark roots underneath, and everything combed to the right side… while the left side had – once- been shaven bald and has now grown back dark brown to two inches in length. Her eyebrows form some kind of hairy Morse code the way they've been shaven, and there's a little scar pulling her thin upper lip slightly upward. It doesn't look recent. She looks young, likely not even 20 yet, and from the way she's staring back at him challengingly, Hicks can already tell that the outburst he witnessed just a few minutes ago probably wasn't out of character for her.

He casts her a brief, acknowledging nod and shifts his attention to the guy sitting right next to her. The same type, just the other gender – punky, pseudo-rebellious, but probably more bark than bite… and his hair is raven-black. His guess is that the two are related in some way – either brother and sister or couple.

"What do _you_ want?"

His thoughts are interrupted by the girl's question. He furrows his brow, not knowing what to make of her question.

"Huh?"

Impatiently, she nods at her companion, and it dawns on Hicks that she's probably talking about the illuso.

"The park or the beach?"

"Oh…" He shrugs, indifferent. „If it were real, I'd prefer the beach… but since it's not, I don't really care."

They stare at him, and the girl's lips curve slightly upward.

"Yeah. This shit kinda sucks, right? I mean, after all it's all just fuckin' make-believe."

"U-huh." He takes another spoonful, not really intent on carrying on with this conversation. After all, he's trying to eat here! But now that they've got someone new to sink their teeth into, they'll be damned if they don't!

"You new here?" her boyfriend? brother? wants to know. Hicks sighs inwardly.

"Yup." Another swig of tasteless tea, sending out a silent message. _'I don't wanna talk, okay? Now would you please leave_ _me alone?'_

His brief replies seem to have the wanted effect. They seem to get it – at least judging from their frowning faces. Some look even angry.

"Alright…You just want us to get lost , right?" the girl snaps consequently. "Are we annoying you? Should we all leave so you can have the hall to yourself?"

"No." Hicks looks up from his bowl, face non-telling. "It would completely suffice if you'd just ignore my presence for now." He inhales deeply and catches her eyes, knowing how rude he's just come off. "Look, no offense, it's just that I really need some time to sort a few things out for me, okay? It's early morning, and I have to ponder some pretty heavy stuff…I'm not terribly sociable whenever I'm doing this, so can you - in order to spare us both the aggravation – just let me sit here for once? Please?"

"Suit yourself." She's still sounding miffed, but backs off to engage her friend into another discussion. A brief glance over her shoulder reveals that some of the inmates are still looking at him with narrowed eyes and creases on their brows before they take up their usual social life again. He sighs, ready to shift back his attention to his patiently waiting breakfast again… when he feels the probing stare of a middle-aged man – he must be somewhere in his early 40's – on himself and looks up to meet it. The man's diamond-cut face and piercing blue eyes radiate intelligence and curiosity at the same time, and somewhere in the back of his head, a bell starts ringing. He's having some sort of weird déjà-vu. He knows this guy… or does he?

Narrowing his eyes in sudden thought, he tries to put a name to the face, but fails miserably. Strange enough, the man's mouth twitches in a brief smirk in reply to his efforts. Confused, Hicks spins around in his seat again, turning his back on the small group of misfits and hearing the unintelligible walla of the muffled discussion pick up where it left off.

Just when he's about to continue with his breakfast, he senses another shift in the atmosphere… a rather dramatic one. They're all quiet behind him, deadly quiet, some having stopped even in the middle of their sentence. It's as if all of the air has been sucked out of the room. They all appear to have trouble breathing as they stare over with widened eyes to the figure entering the hall. Hicks turns his head to watch the approach of the largest man he's ever seen. The figure that's casually strolling up to the AutoChef is bald, lending his appearance an alien look. The man's skull seems to be grown of granite, strong-boned and indestructible… and he is big – big in every way! 6'5, 6'7, Hicks estimates, and no less than 210 – 215 pounds… all muscle. Broad shoulders his friend Frost could have dressed behind him without being seen – and Frost had a pretty impressive body himself! He's wearing the same blue outfit they're all wearing, but in contrast to them it looks as if even the biggest size is too small for him. He virtually seems to burst out of his clothing.

From the others' reactions, this must be someone to fear… some crazy maniac, mass murderer or whatever. And he seems to be enjoying the ruckus he's causing, judging from the arrogant swagger in his step. When he thumbs the switch on the AutoChef, he almost goes through the plastic. A chair screeches behind Hicks.

"Okay, I'm out of here." The girl's voice. "Chad? You coming with me?"

"You bet." The sounds of someone else standing up. "Come on, let's go."

He hears them leave in some kind of dignified hurry. Eager not to appear panicky, but scared shitless just the same. He hears it in their hurried steps and can't help feel some kind of morbid excitement himself. All this hoopla just because of one man? He can't be this strong if he ended up here, now can he? His stomach rumbles and reminds him of his breakfast right in front of him. Okay, enough of the freak show. Time to get his body what it's demanding, killer or not. Hicks takes his eyes from the man's broad back and resumes clearing his bowl of coffee-glob in the eerie silence the murder's appearance has shocked the inhabitants into.

"He's coming…" he hears someone whisper behind his back and looks up, swallowing the spoonful he's had in his mouth. A wall of flesh obstructs his view, and Hicks has to crane his neck back to meet the giant's probing stare.

"That's my seat." The voice uttering the challenge is low and raspy, and the man's almost colorless eyes are as cold in their stare as a glacier. The silence behind them picks up a new quality… expectant, almost. This must be the atmosphere in a Roman coliseum just before the final strike of the winner, just shortly after the crowd has seen the Cesar's downward turned thumb. Man, does he really need this at 8.00 o'clock in the morning? Hicks points over to the empty chair opposite him.

"There's another chair. Why don't you take that?"

"'cause I want this one. Get it?" The voice still doesn't give away the other man's mood, but the short sparkle in his eyes does. Hicks puts the spoon down and tenses in expectation of trouble. "Move your ass over, scarecrow, or I'll make you."

Either he's imagining it, or he really hears someone gasp behind him.

"No." It's out before he's even had a chance to think about it, surprising himself. His death wish must be stronger than he thought… Of course he's never been one to take this shit from anyone, but given his current condition… backing down might not have been the worst idea. His opposite narrows his eyes.

"What?"

"There's a free chair right in front of you. I suggest you take it, if you don't want to eat your breakfast standing."

"I suggest you move your scrawny ass this instant, or you won't be able to eat your breakfast _at all_," is the reply, mocking his tone.

"Hey Raven," a voices booms in over the loudspeakers, making all of them jerk. Hicks doesn't recognize it. "You remember our little yesterday's talk?"

_'God speaks'_, Hicks thinks sarcastically, but at the same time somewhat relieved. There's definitely something to '_Divine Intervention'_… Raven, huh? The man tilts his head and grins broadly into the direction of the nearest camera, revealing big, white teeth.

"Hell, Alex, I was just joking, get it? Can't a man have a little fun around here?"

"You know what happens if the 'fun' gets out of hand…"

Raven's glance finds its way back to Hicks… a mischievous smirk playing around his lips.

"Maybe he's worth getting zapped…"

"You wanna find out?"

_'Getting zapped?'_

Hicks hasn't even begun to wrap his brain around the expression, as he feels himself getting lifted off his chair. But his reflexes still work, because his fist shoots out against his opponent's throat like a ram – and gets grabbed by a huge hand, squeezing his fingers together like an iron press, forcing a painful hiss out of him, just as this granite skull of Raven's gives a violent push into his direction. Flinching in expectation of the pain of a crushed nose, he squeezes his eyes shut – and hears Raven yell. A tenth of a second later, he's being released and stumbles backwards, landing ungracefully on his ass when his weak leg gives way, staring up in puzzlement.

The huge man's face is contorted to a grimace of pain as he goes down heavily onto the floor like a marionette with all its strings severed.

"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhh!"

He bangs his head on the floor, again and again, like a maniac, spitting blood from his bitten lips, writhing on the floor with strangely limp arms and legs like an eel on a salt bed. "Awwww FUCK!"

Hicks pushes himself back, mesmerized by the gruesome scenario, hands blindly groping for his crutches, which clattered to the floor somewhere behind him during the attack.

"Come on." Strong arms help him to get up again, and when he turns around, he sees the hawk-eyed guy he noticed earlier hand him the crutches. "Here."

"Thanks."

"Is that enough, Raven?" the god-like voice comes booming in over the loudspeakers again, making them turn their heads towards the still writhing figure on the floor. "Did you learn your lesson, or would you like me to continue?" The twitching body relaxes for a second, breath coming in heaves, blood running from his split lip down on both sides of his face.

"-ck you…"

"What was that?"

The voice sounds slightly amused, much to Hicks' disgust. Sure, that human tank down there on the floor had been about to smash his face in, but still…

"I didn't hear you properly. You were saying?" Silence, only intercut by labored breaths. "Raven? Stop or continue? What do you want?"

Hicks tilts his head to send an angry glance into the direction of the camera, incredulous. What kind of a sadistic question is this? The psycho on the other end of the line seems to actually enjoy the scenario. Someone tugs at his sleeve, and as he turns, he sees piercing blue eyes stab into his.

"Come on. You don't want to get involved. Trust me. Or they do the same to you."

An inviting gesture towards a chair at the table with the group of people. Their faces are not particularly friendly as he limps over after a last glance at his fallen opponent. His own fault, really. Maybe he should apologize for his rude entrance.

"I'll stop it for now, Raven, but make no mistake about it: As soon as I see you get up and go after that guy, you'll meet with the floor again. Do we have an understanding?"

"Do the same to me?"

Hicks doesn't listen to Raven's reply, since the other man's hint has left him curious. He opens his mouth to ask how – and freezes when he sees the fresh scar on the other man's neck, right over his spine. The same scar he has. The same scar the man sitting with the back towards him has. Somewhere in the back of his mind, things click and form a new sense.

"That scar –"

The man has pulled back a chair and offers it to him.

"Everyone has it. They say it's a new kind of PDT, but we just call it the "Pacifier".

Hicks slips behind the table and creases his brow in question.

"Pacifier?"

A nod towards Raven, who's still lying on the floor, panting… but the violent spasms have ceased.

"It's an implant directly connected to your spine and thus, all your nerve fibres," one of the others points out, staring at him. "The second you misbehave, they either give you an electrical jolt or switch off the connection to your limbs. Either way, you're going down."

"So just in case you've been indulging in any escape-fantasies, " his neighbor ads, "skip them. You won't get off this place. By the way, I'm Axel von Sontheim. Welcome to the Zoo."

* * *

**'IVORY TOWER', PHOOKA STATION**

"Father? Are you there?" I'm calling through space to my maker, hundreds of lightyears away.

"None other."

A short break with nothing but static crackling. Did the connection fold? "

I was hoping to hear from you today, Isis."

There's a slight smile in his voice. I return it.

"You know I wouldn't forget. I can't forget – and I don't want to. It's been three years now."

"You're the most intelligent three-year-old I've ever met," he smirks. I can't see him, but I hear it just as well, even though we're lightyears apart. "The most beautiful one, too."

"You must still be satisfied with me then," I tease him.

"How could I be not? You've been leading all those Weyland Yutani hotshots on for ages, you give me more valuable data than I've ever dreamt possible, and if we succeed, it will be mainly your doing… I see you've gotten lots of news for me since last time, too. The counter is flying!"

"That's because big things are happening here, Rogue. I can tell we are on the verge to something that will chance life as we know it." I stare down at the thin cable that connects the console I'm sitting at with the hidden port in my palm.

"For better or worse?"

"I can't tell…," I shrug, looking around in the empty laboratory. I'm still alone. "I don't think I'd be the right person to judge that. I'm just an objective observer. You made me that way."

"No," he objects firmly. "I made you better. I gave you the possibility to become human… but as I see, you still choose to ignore it." _That_ subject again.

"Look, you know how I see it. I don't really want to discuss it again – least of all now."

"You're right," he agrees.

He knows how valuable our time together is. I won't be able to talk to him for much longer. After all, I've only managed to stay undiscovered thus far because I avoided all unnecessary risks. All traces of our little conversation are being erased from the computer's memory even as we speak. The signal itself is scrambled and will – in case anyone _does_ pick it up – sound like static, the rest of an old transmission flying through space since ages. All I have to be careful of is not to have Darwin or Kurtz walk in on me with my hand in the honey pot, to use a common human figure of speech.

But it's 8.00 a.m., and Lab 1 is quiet as a graveyard, except for the ever-present humming of the instruments. We only finished working on the alien three hours ago, so the possibility of having anybody turn up unexpectedly seems marginal at best. In any case, I set the monitor to show me the inside of Xenomorph City. There's only the little sign at the very bottom of the image saying 'Download completed: 35 %'finished' that would give me away …and of course the cable spouting from my hand to the console. But one would have to look for it to see it – a casual glance wouldn't reveal my betrayal… I hope. And after all these years, I've developed the perfect technique to hook myself up to the computer without even the surveillance cameras being able to pick it up.

Anyway, it's still quiet. There's no one around except for the guards in the corridor and the operating room with the alien. No need to get paranoid. After listening intensively for a few more moments, I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of the data flowing out of me, through sub-space, to my father and maker. It's almost as if I can feel him. A sensual, calming experience I could lose myself in for hours. We only have minutes to share though. Anything more would be too dangerous.

The thought of Kurtz finding out what I'm doing briefly crosses my mind – not for the first time – and disturbs the intimate moment. There's little doubt in my mind what he would do with me - he probably wouldn't even bother to have me reprogrammed – he'd send me straight to deconstruction… or let the aliens have their fun with me. I know at least one of them would love to get the opportunity of ripping me to pieces. And Darwin? How would she react? Until this project started, we had been sharing a wonderful relationship – almost sisterly. We're equals, she and I. She's as close to a synthetic as possible for a human being, while I'm really the missing link between synthetics and humans.

"How much longer will I have to stay here, Father?" I ask, feeling a strange trace of melancholy taking a hold of me.

"I can't tell you, Isis," is the unsatisfactory reply. "I don't know yet. It all depends on what's happening on Phooka. It would be pretty dumb of us to take you away in the middle of a maybe revolutionary discovery, don't you agree?"

"Yes…", I admit. Of course he's right. But every time I hear his voice, I long to go back. I can't help it. He programmed me that way himself, and not for the first time, I feel something like anger over it. In a way, he's made me dependant on him. Anyway, I'm curious to see for myself what Darwin will make of the aliens, I'm curious to see whether her projects "Human Bomb" and "Perfect Soldier" will be a success… but given the choice, if Rogue told me I could come home right now, I would go. I'm surprised to feel like that. 'Download completed: 60%'. Another couple of minutes of walking the tightrope left.

"Don't tell me you want to leave and miss all the exciting stuff," my maker teases me. "I don't remember putting that into your programming."

"No," I scowl. "You only conditioned me to love you like a dog loves his master."

Silence. I wonder whether I've gone too far. I didn't mean it that harsh… or did I? Finally, I hear a sigh on the other end.

"It seems we've got a lot to discuss once you're back," my master says. "Are you sure about your 'human behavior' path of the programming still being inactive? Because you _have_ changed since I last talked to you."

"Can't be."

My voice is firm and leaves no doubt how ridiculous his idea sounds to me… if only it really did! I gnaw my lower lip in an imitation of human behavior, thinking about how I felt that night I kicked Alexander out of my room. Didn't I feel sorry for him…and for me? And how about… I stare down at the monitor, or rather, beyond the image of the alien hive, deep in thought… which is why I don't react instantly when I see Darwin's features mirrored in the glass from behind me.

Her stare is just as distant as mine, and I can't tell where it's directed at – the back of my head or the monitor. I also can't tell for how long she's been standing there, watching. She can't have overheard me, since I led the conversation with Rogue silently, without audio-output. With a swift, much-practiced swipe I disconnect from the console and hide the cable in my sleeve.

"Darwin!"

Not for the first time, I'm unfathomably glad not to be human: There's no paling, no blushing, no stuttering over having been caught off-guard, and I didn't jump. I behave completely normal. I wonder whether she'll let herself be tricked.

"You're up already?"

I cast her a slightly surprised expression. Her face remains unreadable.

"I never went to bed. Couldn't sleep."

She comes a step closer, looking at the monitor intently. The 'Download completed' sign has gone, but if she saw it earlier… I can't help but tense, just waiting for her to say something. But either she's toying with me, or she didn't see it.

"Everything quiet in there, huh? Looks as if at least _they_ are smart enough to rest."

Without warning, her stern gaze finds me, blue eyes probing in my superficially calm, non-telling features. "So what are _you _doing here?"

_The question_. Thank Rouge I'm prepared! I shrug.

"You know I don't need to sleep. I thought I'd hold myself available… for any, you know, _unexpected occurences_…" I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively, waiting for my human alter ego to smile. She doesn't. A very long, tense moment passes between us. Finally, she straightens and inhales, shifting her attention back from me to the monitor.

"And so you decided to see what kind of information were already available? Look at the probes' progress?" She sounds strange. And I've never experienced before that she virtually puts the answers into my mouth. It's almost as if she wants to justify my unexpected presence to herself against better knowledge, or suspicion.

"Well, yes. And-"

"Did you see what happened in the hive while we were simultaneously examining our specimen of _xenomorphis terribilis_?"

I stare at her, feeling somewhat dumb.

"No."

"You need to see this!"

All of a sudden, the tension is gone and she is her excited self of the past weeks as she lunges past me to hit a few keys. I allow myself to relax slightly. Danger's passed? In response to her doings, we get a split screen – the left side showing the alien we strapped to the table, the right side an image of the hive at the same time, as the two separate timecodes in the top left corners of each image indicate. The drill-pump enters the frame, and the image shows a close-up of the alien going mad. "Watch the hive!"

"I'll be-"

I freeze-frame the pictures, not sure I really saw what I saw, then rewind in slow motion, feeling Darwin's knowing gaze on me. There it is! The second before the drill starts digging into the xenomorph's body: The creature's just lying there, immobilized, doing nothing. And in the hive? No movement whatsoever. The other two specimens sit or stand in a curled-up position, almost like fetuses. Dormant.

The second after: Our guinea pig opens hiss jaws, hissing. A thin trail of smoke rises up from its head around the drill. And it's brethren in the hive – shoot up their heads, both looking into the same direction – the direction of the operating room! I'm sure if I were human, I'd get gooseflesh right now. Another second later: Our alien shoots out its tongue, squealing in pain and/ or fury – while the others straighten to their full height, hissing in undeniable rage. My fingers twiddle around with the jog shuttle for a few seconds more, but everything the two images reveal solidifies what the first moment already showed. Pondering the imminent conclusion of our observation, I lean back to look at the human genius beside me.

"There is no way they could have heard it?"

Darwin shakes her head.

"You know best those rooms are perfectly sound-proof. Even the guards in the corridor next to it didn't hear a thing."

I stare back, still searching for a more obvious explanation than the one which first sprang to my mind.

"How about… radio waves, or…" I give up and look her straight in the eye to see whether she's really convinced of what I think she is convinced of. "You think it's telepathy?"

"Certainly looks like it, doesn't it? Whatever it is, it is a form of communication that can't be picked up by any means in existence so far." She beams, then looks past me with a glimmer in her eyes, obviously seeing a bright, exciting future. "Oh, the possibilities!" She leans toward me. "Think about it, Isis: If they really can communicate mentally? Think about what that would mean for 'Perfect Soldier'! The USCM would eat out of our hands if we offer them this!"

I continue to stare at her, chewing on the exquisite bit of information for while longer. Letting it sink. Tasting the implications.

"You know," I finally begin, "it could make the entire project exceedingly more dangerous. If our two lab rats could read our minds… and maybe combine their powers against us." I shrug. She knows what I'm driving at. Incredibly though, her smile grows even wider.

"I know. It will make the game much more interesting. If we can preserve that trait in the girl and in Raven and Hicks, there's no telling what will happen. As a matter of fact, I'm looking forward to it!" She points with her chin over to her private office. "Come on, let's get things ready for our 10.00 o'clock appointment. I could use some help."

* * *

**'THE ZOO', Phooka Station**

"We were all on our way to Sirius Alpha. Some of us were on a pilgrimage to see the 'Lady of the Crystal Sea', some for entertainment, but that's not important. Important is that the ship was as good as new; the best ship I've ever traveled with for sure. It's a load of crap when they say it was about to blow up, and that they just rescued us!"

The man opposite Hicks, a beefy man in his fifties, places his elbows on the table and looks him straight in the eye, unmistakably angry. His heavy accent is unmistakably Alpha Centaurian.

"I saw them take us," a raspy, calm voice comes in from his left side, and he turns his head to look at von Sontheim. From the surprised reactions of the other man, he concludes that the famous journalist is about to share some piece of information he kept to himself so far. The others pretend to be busy with their breakfast, until the first man, who calls himself Zen without any second name, tells him that the journalist and himself are the only ones who speak English around here, apart from the two young people that left with Raven's arrival. The big man narrows his eyes.

"What?"

"I saw them coming." von Sontheim downs a swig of coffee, knowing he has the undivided attention of the other two. "They were out to get us, that much was clear. Their ship was specifically designed for that kind of undertaking. I don't think we were the first they kidnapped."

"What makes you say that?" Hicks injects, leaning back in his chair with his palms still on the table.. A wary side glance over to Raven shows the giant sitting alone at his table, his back to them. He appears to be better and doesn't acknowledge their presence by a single glance.

"They were camouflaged." The journalist looks him straight in the eye. "At first I thought it was an anormaly of space I was seeing, because it was completely invisible. I saw nothing but stars… But then the stars moved, and when they moved toward us, I knew it had to be a ship with a camouflage alloy, reflecting the starlight." He pauses dramatically. "Now I'm pretty much up-to-date technology-wise, and yet I haven't heard of any such thing in existence. It must be brand new." A deep breath. "Who would invent such a thing and equip a full-size spaceship with it if not to use it for illegal purposes? No… this ship was specifically designed for kidnapping actions."

The others' faces are solemn as they ponder the meaning of this new bit of information. von Sontheim puts the rest of the roll he has been eating back onto the plate.

"It all fits. I heard of sightings and traceless disappearances of small private spacecraft in this sector before. It was actually the reason for my being there."

"You are the one who found out about Weyland Yutani's illegal cloning procedures a few years back, right?" Hicks suddenly remembers. "The guy they're all burning to have in their talk shows!"

"Yeah," the journalist sighs. "The one who swore to bring down the company. That's me." He shrugs, disillusioned. "Guess I won't be able to end what I started… just like so many before me." He ruffles his hair and then slumps in his seat.

"Don't say that," Hicks offers after a leaden pause. "Even if you can't do it yourself – which remains yet to be seen – your example has shown that the company _can_ be beaten – there are bound to be others just like you now. Others that won't back down." His outburst earns him a thin, sarcastic smile.

"Well… it's obvious you are new down here. Otherwise you wouldn't speak like this."

"It's time to check your naivete at the door, son," Zen adds. "This is not a place for optimism… this is a place where people disappear without a trace from one day to the other."

"Well, where I've come from, people disappeared, too. Sometimes traceless, sometimes you could find puddles of blood and pieces of them, depending on how hard you looked," Hicks replies without flinching. "And the company had their fingers up to their elbows in this one, too, so spare me the lecture about naivete, all right?"

The outburst makes him the center of attention, even if the inmates among them can't have understood what he just said. The big Zen narrows his eyes.

"So how did _you_ end up here? What kind of hole did they dig you out of?"

They stare at him, waiting for his story. He is not ready to give to them, doesn't want to talk about the darkest days of his life - apart from Corps regulations forbidding for him to share his story with civilians. And if he's learned one thing in all these years in the service, it's that soldiers – USCM, Army or whatever – are rarely welcome among the rest of humanity. So he leans back in his chair, a shadow wandering over his face. He's beginning to feel tired, too, not having lead a heated discussion like this for a long time. And the rising talk in a language he doesn't recognize from behind makes it hard for him to concentrate.

"I'd rather not talk about it. Not yet, at least." He sees a trace of hostility reappear in the faces before him and feels inclined to add: "I guess I'll have to come to grips with it myself, first, before I can talk about it. No offense meant."

"Well…," Zen replies acidly. "Don't take too long… or you won't have anyone left to tell your story to. – Excuse me." He snorts and slips back with his chair from the table, gets on his feet and declares: "I'll be at the gym… in case they come looking for me." He stomps off.

Hicks looks after him thoughtfully, a bitter metallic taste in his mouth. Just what he thought… he just landed his precious behind in the rat-cage.

"Shocked?" he hears von Sontheim's curious tone, and when he comes back from his short moment of day-dreaming, he sees a slight smile on the journalist's lips, in which his eyes don't participate. Hicks shakes his head.

"Not really… guess I expected as much." He inhales deeply and looks around in the hall. "How long have you all been here?"

"About six weeks. By then, we were twenty-nine people. What you see here are the sorry remains of the _Aldana's _staff and cargo." von Sontheim's gaze is fixed on Raven's broad shoulders, and he points his chin at the killer. "_He_ arrived here yesterday. But from that first meeting you two had half an hour ago, I assume you didn't come together." He folds his hands and waits for Hicks to deny it, but the Marine has been mesmerized by something else.

"Twenty-nine? There were twenty-nine of you just six weeks ago?" He feels a cold chill trickling down his spine.

"U-huh." His opposite empties his coffee and leans back. "They disappeared one by one. Every other day, there was someone missing at breakfast." The journalist pauses, and then even the sarcastic smile drops from his face. "They always take them at night. After the general lock-down. We don't have a clue of how exactly they're doing it or where they take them, but…" he shrugs "… we never see them again. Judging from what I already know of the Company, I think it's safe to assume they've been wasted for the "Good of Mankind"."

Hicks can't do anything but stare at him for what seems to him like an eternity. Sure, he'd had his suspicions, but hearing it now firsthand… is something different altogether. He'll have to talk this over with his android caretaker later today. See her reaction. He wonders for a moment whether Keisha knows about this, too, and remembers her face when he left the hospital wing. Oh, she knows, all right!

_'Time to face it',_ he tells himself. _'You can't trust anyone on this station._'

It takes him a while to make his voice and brain work again.

"You said you were on your way to Sirius Alpha because you heard about ships vanishing in this sector…"

"We had two separate reports from eye-witnesses who saw the same what I saw," von Sontheim deadpans, entirely serious now. "The stars moving towards them, and then the dark silhouette of the ship. One even saw how it swallowed a small spacecraft. The guy was lucky enough to have a very fast ship, so he got away and spread the word, until it eventually reached me. From the rumors that were flying around, it was clear to me that W.Y. probably had their hands in this. They've always been desperate for human guinea pigs, and even more so after the first 'Cloning Scandal'. Since they couldn't just carry on breeding them, it was obvious they would have to look for other … resources. And let's face it: Who else has the resources to develop a completely new, expensive technology? "

"Nobody we know of."

"Right. So I decided to get down to the bottom of things… well, and here I am: I found out all about it, and will take it into my grave." A sinister smile. "The irony of this is not completely beyond me, you know? It's just what the thought of what they have in store for me that makes me uncomfortable…"

It's that part of the conversation where Hicks feels anger mix with his fear, actually becoming the strongest emotion.

"And you're willing to accept that fate, just like that?"

von Sontheim snorts.

"If you're insinuating I should raise hell and start a mutiny down here to take control, forget it. They never come down while we're wandering around these premises. We've never even seen them here – not even once! The only time you get to see someone is when they come to get you, as it seems." He shrugs. "They're smart people. They know what would happen to them if they showed themselves here."

"There's always a way."

Now the other man actually laughs, while his gaze goes briefly up towards one of the surveillance cameras. Hicks, however, is not amused, as he lowers his voice confidentially.

"What if someone faked being sick in this hall? Having an epileptic fit or something. I bet that would bring them down. Or if we faked a brawl between-"

"A brawl?" von Sontheim asks with highly arched eyebrows. "You forgot about the-"

"Luring them down here to mess them up?" another voice comes from behind them. "Hey, I like this plan."

As Hicks cranes his neck, he looks straight into Raven's still blood-speckled, grinning face.

"And then what?" the journalist sighs, impatient.

"We get a hold of them and-"

"And what? You forgot about that fucking pacifier! If anything's only in the least bit of danger of getting out of control, they can simply shut you off!" He shakes his head. "You saw what happened to him!" A nod to Raven. "So even if the all-mighty chief of this station came down, and you'd be able to put a knife to his throat – which we don't have, by the way, just like any other sharp or pointy objects –" another nod toward the plastic forks, spoons and knifes – "the second they hit that switch, you go down! You won't be able to move a finger."

A long pause, during which they just stare at each other, before von Sontheim shakes his head again.

"And you won't be able to fake anything. The same thing that doubles you over in agony sends them your readouts! They'll know if you got a migraine or not from the other side of the station! You can't fool them! Forget about it. There is no way out of here."

Hicks is almost knocked off his chair by a hearty blow to his shoulder from behind.

"Fuck this, I'm not going down without a fight. If you think something up, mate, I'm with you. Let's make the suckers bleed!"

Hicks narrows his eyes, deeply skeptic. The expression on Raven's face seems truly enthusiastic.

"Just half an hour ago you were about to smash my head in. And now I'm your _mate_?"

The killer shrugs.

"Nothing personal. It's okay when people refuse to take shit. I respect that." He smirks at von Sontheim and the other inmates and adds: "Your group is a bunch of whiners. They're so scared of me, I bet they would kiss my ass if I asked them to. But you –" his gaze finds back to Hicks, and his powerful hand lands again on the Marine's shoulder – "you were ready to fight me. That's cool… even if you wouldn't stand a chance." The broad grin makes a dramatic reappearance.

Hicks cocks an eyebrow at him, but doesn't respond. His gaze goes up to one of the surveillance cameras, deep in thought. He doesn't see von Sontheim's mildly derogatory smile directed at him and Raven. He asks himself whether the man behind it – Alex, he remembers Raven calling him – picked anything up of this unlikely fraternizing, even though they kept their voices low. Slowly, as if waking from a dream, he turns to face the giant again.

"I'll let you know when I come up with something. Until then, I guess it will be best for us to just observe. There must be way… there always is."

* * *

1400 hours. He's back in his quarters, fiddling around with the remote control, zapping through the recorded programs and games provided for him to kill off the inescapable boredom that has to get a hold of him in this confined space sooner or later. A superfluous luxury? At first sight, yes. But the psychology behind it is quite clever and justifies the extra-expenses: Anything that will keep the inmates from developing aggression and/ or cabin fever is invaluable. They need to be kept docile and manageable with the least bit of effort for W.Y. staff.

Things would only get incredibly more difficult for them if they had to come down here with a cattle prod and a bunch of bodyguards each time they actually let themselves be seen. They would get more difficult if they had to separate their 'Zoo-animals' every hour to keep them from smashing their heads in. People watching movies and documentaries or playing virtual reality games are easy to handle. And heck, the virtual reality surroundings will even help in keeping off the cabin-fever, just like all the elaborate illusos he's wading through in the corridor or the big hall. Yes, they've got this figured out.

His thoughts turn back to the latest conversation with his synthetic caretaker, Isis, just a few hours ago. He confronted her about all the new information he had learned at breakfast, putting every effort into extracting more information from her, or – when it was clear to him that she was once again immune to his request – at least getting her angry at him. Nothing. She had fended him off as if he were nothing more than background noise to her… after he had made it clear to her, too, that he still wouldn't talk about the events on Hadley's Hope after the Sulaco had shredded it to pieces, which had to be where their records ended.

Stalemate. He wonders whether she will try it again, or maybe they're just going to pump some newly-developed drugs into his system to make him babble until his lower jaw falls off, if they can't get him to talk otherwise. Slowly shaking his head to himself in frustration, he changes the channel again – and the entire room goes black. Pitch black. So black, he can't even see his hand in front of his eyes.

_'Okay, it's just a power-failure,'_ he thinks, surprised to find his heartbeat accelerating. _'Some stupid little circuit shorted out. Nothing to get all excited about. Light_ _will be back in a second._'

If only he could believe himself! And if only the nasty images wouldn't reappear behind his open, but unseeing eyes with a jump-start, as the vault in his sub-conscious breaks, where he had been keeping the gruesome truth about the beginning of Hadley's end… The memories flood his racing mind like a tidal wave, so vivid, the sounds, the smells, everything comes back to him in a micro-second. It had started with the lights going out there, too. The deep blackness that encircled them… and then the wailing of the robot-sentries' alarm, picking up something moving around in the corridors beyond their door… followed by the flickering of the red emergency lighting, and the sight of Hudson racing toward the door, holding the revolver Hicks took from him two days ago and beginning to punch in the sequence that would unlock it, uttering unintelligible gibberish that scared Hicks more than any alien could have done by showing itself at the door…

* * *

**Hadley's Hope, Day 11, 1700 hours**

"Will, come on, think about it for a second! This cannot be your-" The gun spins around, and suddenly Hicks finds himself looking into the biggest, blackest hole he's ever seen. Death's stares him straight in the eye, and the sudden chill raises the short hairs on the back of his neck and steals his breath. He doesn't even hear the others gasp behind him. "Will…"

_'How did he get his gun back?!'_

"Stand back, Hicks. Stand back, or I'll shoot, so help me God!"

The ComTech's voice sounds treacherously calm, but all Hicks has to see to know his friend has snapped are his bulging eyes, the endless terror in them. Slowly, almost in slow-motion, he raises his hands, palms turned upward in a soothing gesture.

"I'm unarmed, Will. I won't do anything. I just want to talk."

Another step closer, and the black hole rises another inch, now pointing directly between his eyes. He feels the point where it would hit him turn hot. His voice is intense, but low. Calm. The voice of reason. Hudson _has t_o listen to him!

"Come on, ease down. You don't want to do this. I know you don't." Silence - except for the wailing of the alarm. Then the Private's voice, uncertain.

"I don't want to, but if I have to-"

"You won't." Finally, Hicks feels like he's getting through to the real Hudson inside that chaos of terror. "I won't do a thing. Let's just talk this over, okay? Will you hear me out?"

From the corners of his eyes, he sees the Mexican smartgun operator move ever so slightly. One sidestep… pause… another one… slowly but surely making her way behind the Private's position. Her intent is clear, and Hicks knows it's on him not to spoil it by glancing too long into her direction. They're both performing a Pas de Deux on the tightrope at breathtaking height. Messing up will be punished with death. The others know it, too, which is why none of them cuts in with any smart suggestions of their own. Back in the good old days, he used to be the most cool-headed one of them all. The one to talk sense when all the others were in hysterics. They always listened to him whenever they found themselves in a bad situation. Hudson _must_ remember this. He _must_ remember that whatever promises his superior had been making in the past, about keeping them out of harm's way and getting them all out alive, he'd kept them. Every single one of them. And this will be no different!

He tries to put it all into his eyes, to silently communicate his understanding and conviction.

"Come on, Will, put the gun down, what d'you say? Let's talk." A spark of hope flickers to life when he sees the shadow of a doubt in his comrade's fear-crazed face. He's considering it! He's actually considering it!

Behind him, Vasquez takes another step. Bringing her out of the Private's field of vision.

_'Don't look!'_

The steel muzzle in front of his eyes sinks… an inch, two… Hudson's face comes into view behind it, his eyes wide and …moist? There's a lost expression in his features, as if he were about to cry. Yes, Hicks thinks, and it aches: he's lost. Completely lost. And he probably contributed to his friend's state of mind by locking him up earlier. He should have never done this! But maybe he can make up for it now, maybe…

"That's good, Will. Take it down. You don't want to shoot me, right? I'm not one of them. I-"

"They'll get in here, Hicks," the Comtech quivers. "They're outside. Don't you hear them?"

"It's just the robot sentries. We don't know what they're picking up yet. It could be anything. A piece of paper. You know the outer hull's been damaged, and there's a lot of wind in the corridors. With the lights out like that-"

"It's _them_. I know it."

"Okay…" Hicks stretches the word, feverishly thinking of something intelligent to say. Something soothing… something to buy Vasquez some time behind Hudson's back. Or maybe, if he can just find the right words, she won't even have to take action. Everyone else is in a different galaxy, light-years away. "Then why do you want to open the door? They won't come in here. They remember what happened to them last time. If you open it now –"

"Hicks…" the desperation in his friend's eyes is bottomless. "Please! I can't stand this anymore! I can't stand to sit around on my hands, just waiting for them to decide when they're gonna take us. I can't stand these fucking alarms anymore! I'm dying with each new alarm! I can't sleep anymore! I can't eat anymore! I'm so scared I… I just want it to end. I can't go on like this…Don't you want it to end, too?"

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Hicks takes in a slow, deliberate breath.

"Yes, but not like this."

"We're not going to get out of here in one piece, Hicks," Hudson continues, endless sadness in his voice. "I know you promised it, and you were always right in the past… but it's not how _this _will turn out. Not this time. This time-"

"No Will, we-"

"-we will buy it. And we will buy it ugly and – and dirty – and-"

"Will, don't!"

"-and I don't wanna die like Apone!" he yells suddenly, his voice breaking. He's coming apart at the seams. Ground zero. A full meltdown.

"Will-" Taking another step towards his friend is a reflex – and brings up the gun again.

"Don't!"

Movement behind Hudson's back. She's quiet, and she's fast – and he can't help look over his opposite's shoulder for the fraction of a second; a quick slip of attention the crazed ComTech picks up at once. He whirls around firing.

"Noo!"

_BANG!_

Thunder, deafening in the confined room, shrieks, gasps, someone yelling. His muscles react, pure reflex, going for the gun – and freeze him dead in his tracks when the gun swivels back at him in the wink of an eye. Too slow. That's it – game over! Shrieks behind him. He doesn't even hear them.

"Hudson-" Hot steel burns his skin as the muzzle presses against his brow. The stench of fire fills his nostrils, shock numbing tongue and brain, head empty except for one final thought:

_'So this is how it feels to die._' – and then the thunder of the shot, drowning out the world. _'I'm dead.' _

Something wet sprays his face, obstructs his view with a red mist. Waiting for his knees to buckle and pain to hit him, he stares at Hudson – and sees the deep red gash reaching from his left to his right temple, and for a frozen moment, it stays like that, as if time itself has been shocked. Then it showers down over the Private's face. _'No…'_

The gun clatters to the floor. The ComTech sways, arms dropping at his sides, his strength failing him. A stumbling step forward–

"Hicks –" he croaks, and then his knees buckle, and he falls.

"Will, no!"

Hicks catches him, feeling numb, like someone hit him over the head. From the corners of his eyes, he sees Gorman's rigid statue in the back of the room, hands in front of him, holding the gun. What the- He's dreaming this! It cannot be real, it can't be! But his comrade's slack weight in his arms feels real, and the thick stench of blood and – Dropping to his knees, he lets Hudson slide to the ground, carefully, cradling his ruined head in the pit of his elbow. There's commotion around him, voices and movement-

"-must get her to Medical!"

"-put your finger there!"

"Oh my God-"

-but he doesn't care. His friend's lips move soundlessly, blood-filled eyes glued to Hicks' face, one hand clutching his arm. An endless, silent litany. He can read it from his lips, one word, again and again: "Sorry…"

"Sssshh…" Hicks makes, trying to keep the red flood that's pumping out of that awful gash at bay, to stop it somehow. But it's all in vain, and he knows it from the way it's oozing through his fingers in a steady, pulsing rhythm. His hands, his arms , everything is already slick with his friend's blood… and there's the widening pool on the ground he's kneeling in. "I know. It's gonna be okay, Will, it's gonna be okay…" But it won't. Things will never be okay again! He sees the others crowd over another figure behind them, Bishop among them. A pair of camouflaged legs sticking out between them… twitching.

"Vas…"

"Ssshh… don't talk."

"Vas…"

"Vasquez is okay," he lies, looking down, straight into Hudson's eyes, which are so dark red under the flood pumping out of his skull, he can barely see the deformed pupils in them anymore. "You missed."

He smoothes away a strand of sticky, blood-soaked hair from his friend's brow, feeling Hudson's fingernails painfully digging into his arm.

"Don't worry. She's okay."

The Private groans in his arms, his body tensing. Hicks can't tell whether Hudson believes him.

"Just relax. Let go, Will…" his throat narrows dangerously. "Come on… let go…"

It's all going to hell. Hudson was right. They're not gonna get out of this one. They don't even need the aliens for this to go wrong.

"How's he-" a voice behind him asks.

He doesn't recognize it, doesn't listen. Hudson's dying, and the least he can do is give him some comfort and hope to somehow make it easier for him.

"It's alright, Will," he mumbles absently, not even aware of his own words. It's the sound of Vasquez' legs, thrashing around on the floor, he's hearing. Her anguished groan. "Don't fight it."

"We need to keep her still! I can't-"

"H-Hi…"

"Ssshhhh…"

Incredible urgency in Hudson's gaze, but somehow already coming from a great distance. He's fading fast now.

"It'll be alright…"

Finally, the body in his arms slackens, and as Hicks sees his own gaze reflect in his friend's glassy eyes, he knows that nothing will be alright ever again.

"Dwayne…?" Ripley's voice. "Dwayne, how is-" She stops when he lifts his head up and shows her his blood-speckled face, green eyes looking straight through her with a shell-shocked expression.

"He's dead." The words are almost too big for his narrow throat. A black flood of desperation and sorrow breaks through the barrier he's been putting up until now, churning up and threatens to overwhelm him as he stares up to her, as if pleading to her to make this nightmare end. It doesn't.

"Hicks, come on! We need to get her to Medical, fast!"

Bishop, with his most urgent voice. Somehow, he manages to move. To carefully lay Hudson's head on the floor as if he were sleeping. To force his numb legs to carry his weight again…. and take the two steps over to where his other team member lies, caught up in another battle of life and death. Things are looking bad there, too, and his stomach sinks even further when he sees all the blood on her tank top and corners of her mouth, even dripping out of her nose. She took the bullet to the chest, approximately 10 inches under her right collarbone… a direct hit to the lung.

Bishop has his palm slapped over the hole and stares at him, while Gorman is in the process of kneeling down to take the smart-gunner's legs. Vasquez' face is contorted to a grimace of pain with her gritted teeth and sweat and blood running to her ears and into her hair. But from the gaze that grazes him, he can tell she's still lucid. She knows what's going on, knows about her slim chances of making it. Her need somehow wakes him out of his shocked numbness. Two fast steps bring him up to her.

"You'll make it," he hears Ripley's encouraging voice behind him as he kneels down to carefully lift his team member up, slipping his arms through under hers. A brief exchange with Bishop and Gorman.

"Now." They get up, and the anguished yell of the female smart-gunner is a sting to their hearts. "Hang in there, Vasquez, okay?"

Another gush of blood erupts out of her mouth.

Oh God… Faster! They need to go faster!

"Door's open!" Ripley, from somewhere in front of them, clearing their path. Hicks' is almost running backwards now, fully trusting her directions. Medical.

"Almost there. Hang in there, okay?"

"as… too slow…!" Violent coughing shakes her.

"Here! Put her here!"

They lift her a few inches higher to lay her down on the operating table.

"C-can't…. breathe…" she wheezes breathlessly, her already dark, but now somehow waxy complexion developing a distinct blue hue.

"Bishop-!" Hicks looks up to see the android frantically, but systematically rip open drawers and cabinet-doors, throwing everything he finds on a movable metal-table.

"Come _ON_!"

"I'm coming." The next second, he's at Hicks' side, seeing what's needed. "We must intubate her. Put your palm here!" He slaps Hicks' hand onto the wound. "Press hard! Ripley?"

"Yes?"

"Look in the refrigerator behind me, see if you can find any packs of A negative blood."

"And Morphine!", Hicks adds without taking his eyes off what the synthetic's doing. "Come on, Vaz, you can do this! Don't fight the tube! It'll help you breathe." Somehow Hicks manages to free one hand and cradle her wildly moving head in the pit of his elbow.

"I'm in! Lieutenant?"

„Right here."

„Here. Press this together in a normal breathing rhythm. – Ripley?"

"There's just one!"

They pause to stare at each other in shock.

"Can't be!"

"There are only four packs, and just one with A Minus," she insists. "Maybe there's another fridge or cool-box or-"

"No," Bishop shakes his head, turning around to look for himself. "This must be it. This is the operating room. Right where they'd need it!"

Behind him, Hicks and Gorman exchange an alarmed glance.

"This can't be! Let me-"

"Corporal, I want you to know that I didn't…," Gorman begins, uncomfortably, feverishly searching for the right words. "I didn't want to-"

"Not now," Hicks cuts him off brusquely. He doesn't want to hear it. He's got enough to do trying to stay sane and not go on a rampage of desperation himself. Yes, he would probably be dead if it hadn't been for Gorman's last-second shot. And no, he's not in a state of mind to show any trace of appreciation, or gratitude, or – at least – relief over it. Right now, he'd rather it was him on the table, or lying on the floor in that huge puddle of blood in Operations.

He put them there! By not being able to completely ignore Vasquez when she jumped at Hudson, he caused the tragedy they've got to ride out now. If he hadn't fucked up, she would have managed to disarm her long-term partner and friend, they'd both be alive now, and not one dead with his head half-blown away and the other drowning in her own blood! They're hard facts to swallow and only bearable right now because he's busy and doesn't have the time to think about it further. But the moment will come, inescapably, where he'll have to face the consequences of the biggest mess-up in his life! And he said he'd get them out alive!

Gorman's still looking very uneasy, but what he's got to say is important.

"Someone should watch the door to the corridors. If they decide to try it now-"

_'So what?'_ he wants to bark, but of course the Lieutenant's right. He's not alone in here. _He _might not care for himself anymore, but there are also Ripley and Newt, and Bishop, aside from Gorman… and Burke. Where's Burke anyway? He's not seen him since… since…

"You're right," Ripley says, taking the respirator out of Gorman's hands. "You should go. I'll take over here for you." The Lieutenant seems happy to leave, but maybe Hicks is doing him injustice. Christ, he saved his life! He should be grateful! What is wrong with him?

"Hicks? I need you to hold her still for me for a second." Somehow, Bishop's at his side again, moving in with a syringe. Finally, the morphine-shot. It'll make things easier for Vasquez.

"Vaz?" Hicks bows down to his groaning teammate. „Fight, okay? You can do this, I'm sure. Just don't give up!"

Brown, very alert eyes muster him, before another violent cough attack wrecks her, and the pain makes her squeeze her eyes shut. Then the Morphine kicks in, and her eyes grow hazy.

"Fight," he mumbles, still cradling her head. "Don't give up!"

Her eyes close, and her body slackens in his arm. An awkward moment of absolute silence passes, only interrupted by the noise of the respirator. Hicks swallows, then lifts his head to cast an expectant glance to Bishop at his right side, looking down on their fallen comrade.

"So, what now? Are you going to-"

The synthetics reply is not what he's ready for.

"It would be best for her if we let her die like this. Unconscious… not feeling any pain…"

Breathless silence, a feeling as if someone sucked the air out of the room.

"What?" Open disbelief in Hicks' voice. Bishop's face is open, wearing a truly human compassionate expression.

"Hicks… Don't think just because I'm an artificial person that I don't care for her. I probably care as much as you do, but the fact is…we can't do anything for her. I could operate her, but… with just one pack of blood, she would die right under our hands. She's lost so much already, and if I opened her up, she'd lose even more… she'd probably need around eight or nine packs. With just one… I can't even replace what she's lost now. It would be worthless torture to put her through the procedure of-"

"I thought your behavior-inhibitors forbid for you to let a human being die if you can do something about it," Ripley throws in for the speechless Corporal. Bishop nods.

"Yes. And this alone shows you I am right. I couldn't even make that suggestion if my programming told me it would be wrong. But there is nothing I can do for her! We've got the choice between letting her die peacefully in her sleep, or cutting her open and putting her through hell to have her die during surgery. There is no other outcome possible." He looks at the unconscious female Marine and adds: "I'm sorry…if we had more blood…"

"So we…" Hicks's voice folds, and after clearing his throat, he continues lowly: "We… we just sit here on our hands and watch her die? That's what you're suggesting?"

"Dwayne-" Ripley stops. She can see he knows that the android is right. He's just fighting this battle with himself, probably putting the blame for this disaster entirely on himself.

"There must be _something_ we can do…" He's just mumbling to himself, despairing.

"There isn't," Bishop answers silently. "I wish there were."

Oppressive silence hangs in the room. Together with the thick stench of blood, it makes their presence here almost unbearable. A small eternity passes. They're waiting. Waiting for their Corporal's decision… for the aliens to storm in and end this dread…. or the rescue team to bolt through the door into operations and save the day. Whatever happens first. Finally, Hicks nods almost imperceptibly.

"Okay, we'll take it out." He takes the respirator from Ripley's hands and stares at Bishop. "How do I do it?"

"Just pull."

He looks down. Gathers the sorry remains of his courage… and pulls. The tube comes out much too easily. With his head still bowed, he inhales deeply and asks:

"And now… we just wait…?"

His voice is shaking, and he hopes Ripley won't act on it. If she starts comforting him now, he'll come apart. Let her and Bishop have at least the decency to let him sit through this deathwatch alone.

"Yes…" Bishop's sympathetic voice is so low, it's almost inaudible. And there it is, Ripley's hand touching his arm in confirmation, to show him he's not alone in this. "You want us to leave?"

Hicks nods, unable to maneuver the single word of affirmation around the huge lump in his throat. He's still not looking at the others, too…but he can feel Ripley's hand let go of him, and finally hears their footsteps making for the door.

"If you need something… or change your mind… let us know."

He nods again, and when he hears the door hiss open and shut behind them, he take a chair from a close-by console and drags it over to sit down, grab Vasquez' hand and wait for the inevitable…

* * *

**'THE ZOO', Phooka Station**

With a start, the light's back, so unexpectedly, it's made Hicks jump. He had sunken so deeply into the dark pit of his memories that the light catches him off-guard for a moment, looking at his surroundings in slight disorientation until reality once again takes over. The camera… there's that darn camera up on the ceiling, looking at him, catching his weakness for whoever will view the recordings, to exploit it, maybe dig into it deeper.

_'The subject seems to be upset. Let's see how it reacts if we tell it to-' _

Right now, with the stench of Vasquez' blood still in his nostrils, he can't stand the thought and turns his back to the camera, shielding his burning eyes with his hand. He can see his surroundings again, but the images from his mind are still there as well, creating a weird sort of double-reality. He doesn't remember for how long he had been sitting next to his fallen comrade before the shrill alarm from her heartbeat going flatline had caused him to look up. Half an hour? Two hours? His feeling for time had completely deserted him at that point, and all he had been wanting to do was to lie down and follow his teammates into relieving nothingness.

_'Last one'_, he had thought, the only thought he had still been capable of. Apone, Frost, Crowe, Ferro, Vasquez, Hudson… Spunkmeyer, Wierzbowski… Dietrich, Drake… they were all dead, and he the last one of this once so successful and respected squad. And why? Simply because of stupid, blind luck – if it could be called luck to see all his friends and surrogate family die and not be able to do diddley-squat about it – because - because fate, whatever it was, had decided it wasn't thirsty for his blood just yet? Or because there had been something he didn't give, something the others had given? Was he still alive because he held back? Didn't risk as much as them to get them out of this mess? Is there something he could or should have done differently, and they would have long left this god-forsaken planet? The thought is awful, tearing him up inside and causing him to bury his face in his hands…

* * *

**Hadley's Hope, Day 11, 2100 hours**

"I've got something for you."

It's a thin, sad voice that's coming from right in front of him. At first, he doesn't want to react. Just ignore it and it will go away.

"Please, Mr. Hicks?"

A slight nudge on his arm. He opens his eyes, bent-over on his chair, his head still supported by his blood-encrusted hands. It's Newt, and despite the terrible sight he must be with all the carnage that happened, told by his blood-soaked clothes and speckled face, he doesn't see her recoil from him. Rather, she's holding out a cup of steaming coffee in front of him.

"Ripley said it would be good for you."

He wants to manage a weak smile, but can't, as he takes the cup from her. The plastic is so hot, it's almost burning his fingers, but he hardly notices.

"Thanks, Newt." It takes a major effort to make his vocal cords work, and even though his voice sounds raspy and choked, he gets an approving nod from the girl, with a face so serious and concerned for him, it causes another lump in his throat… Just to make her happy, he takes a swig almost burning the roof of his mouth. She doesn't smile, however.

"My mommy always said, it's not bad to cry when you are sad. She said it's better for you if you did."

Oh God… the lump is too big to get the words around it, so he just motions for her to come closer, and when she complies, putting her arms around him in a comforting hug, he embraces her, too… which is the point where he comes apart…


	10. Chapter 10 - Apocalypse Now

**ALIENS: CHRYSALIS (Book 1)**

**Chapter 10: Apocalypse now**

* * *

**'The ZOO', Phooka Station**

"Dwayne? Dwayne, I'm so sorry I'm late! We had a power-failure, and... are you alright?"

The voice doesn't belong to the scenario in his head, and when Hicks turns his head to look at his unexpected visitor, he sees Keisha staring at him with a genuine expression of concern on her young face. Confused, he checks the clock. 5.30 already. Yes, she _is_ late. But why couldn't she have stayed gone? He's not wild for any company right now. Especially not after what he's learned today.

"Kee…"

"You look awful," she remarks, stepping closer. Only now he notices the obviously heavy case she is carrying. Just what the hell is she up to? He doesn't want it. Warily he follows her to the table, where she places the case with some difficulty. He shrugs, beat.

"Yeah? Well... just how I am supposed to look after all I've learned today?" It's out. He didn't want to accuse her, but in his current mood it's impossible to differentiate between doers and bystanders. And sure enough, when she looks up at him again, there's a hurt expression on her dark face.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." His gaze pins her. "You must have known about the purpose of this place from the start. You knew all along what they're doing on this station." He's sure her face is getting even darker, and feels some sort of strange, guilty pleasure over this. At least he's not the only one feeling shitty now.

"Dwayne, you know I wasn't in a position to tell you. I'm just there to do what I'm told. I don't know what exactly they are doing in the rest of Phooka, outside Sickbay." She interrupts herself, hanging her head and adds with shame in her voice: "I knew it wasn't something good though..." Awkward silence ensues. They both don't know what to say. "If you want to hate me now-" She sees his throw-away gesture. "What?"

"Forget about it." He pretends to shift his attention to the plasma screen over her shoulder.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's not important. Forget about it." His voice is so distant now, it makes _her_ angry. He's withdrawing from her again! She doesn't deserve this!

"You know, I came down to bring you some great news." She pauses, not seeing a reaction. "You wanna hear them?"

He just shrugs, indifferent. Like, what great news could she possibly give him in this place? It's not like they've decided to let him go all of a sudden, right?

"Your Leukemia is gone."

His gaze moves back to her, almost in slow-motion, but there is no trace of relief or even joy visible on it.

"You defeated it. You're going to be as good as new in only a couple of weeks." Still nothing. "I was kinda hoping you'd be happy to hear this."

Finally, a smile, but the thin, sour smirk he casts her is not what she's been hoping for.

"Your bosses are probably happier to hear this than me, Keisha. It's not like I'm going to have any positive aspects from it. They're probably going to waste me even sooner now."

She doesn't know what to say, and so it's left to him to change the subject by asking with a brief nod towards the case: "So what did you bring me there? Some nifty little psyche-evaluation-test for me your bosses designed to evaluate how much of a nut I am after what the company did to me already? Come on, let's do it! " He sees tears running down her cheeks and feels guilty... but unable to stop, as all the bitterness in him needs a release.

"It-its a game," she quivers, wiping away tears from her eyes. "I-I thought it would... I don't know..."

"Cheer me up?" he offers acidly. "I get locked into a rat-cage, find out that my fellow new neighbors have been abducted, too, and that every other day, one of them is hand-picked to advance mankind's knowledge on medicine or whatever, that the revolutionary PDT you implanted me with is in fact a control unit developed to keep us docile by treating us to unexpected electric shocks whenever we don't behave properly... and that the one person I had begun to trust in this hellhole has been lying straight into my face the entire time. And you think you can cheer me up with some stupid game?!"

She's sobbing hard now.

"I'm sorry..." He can hardly hear her as she lifts up the heavy case again and turns to leave. "I was so much loo-looking forward to bringing you this... this great message, but.. but..." She turns and heads for the door in a state of total disintegration, fleeing from Hicks' unrelenting cynicism he's hating himself for...

"Keisha!"

She doesn't stop. The door parts for her to leave, and she's halfway through it already.

"Kee, please- don't!"

Now why the hell-? He shuts up in utter confusion, not knowing why he even called her. A part of him _wants _to make her cry and to run from him – but the other – stronger - part is feeling guilty as hell. And desperate. If she leaves now, there's no mistaking that she won't be back for him. She'd more than likely switch her duties to Isis, and then he won't be left with even a single person he likes... or trusts at least halfway. "Please don't leave!" He observes as she comes to a halt outside, again wiping her eyes.

"I don't mean it like this. I just had a real bad day, and I needed to get it out. I'm sorry you had to be the one to catch it. I know you're not in a position to change anything."

She turns, sniffling. Eyes him skeptically, before she takes another step back, just barely into his room, with her back on the closing door. Putting down the case, she hugs herself, uncertain whether she should listen to him at all. There are a lot of fighting emotions visible in her expression – anger, hurt... but also a certain desire to believe him.

"You know, it would have been real easy for me to hate you, too," she begins, out of the blue. It's not what he expected to hear. "Right from the start, when they told me you were a Colonial Marine. I could have simply hated you for being one of those who trashed up my home-town, just like most other Arcturians would do. Things would be a lot easier for me if I'd just generally hated everybody in a uniform. But I don't. I keep telling myself that not all of them participated in what happened, and that you probably weren't even there! They didn't send the entire Corps to pacify a people of three million, right?"

The riots? She's talking about the riots from five years back?

"I was there," he confesses dully, but her gaze doesn't change.

"Even so, I thought to myself: Even if he _was_ there, five years back he was probably just a cadet, or some other very lowly rank with nothing to say at all, just like me here. He didn't have the power to stop it. He surely wouldn't have participated in the plunderings and rapings. He seems to be a genuinely nice person, and I don't think he would be able to commit crimes like the ones I witnessed. I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, because I felt you were different."

She comes a step closer, pinning him with her gaze.

"And now, with everything that happened to you, you must surely think all of us Weyland Yutani staff must be pathological liars and unscrupulous, sick, greedy sadists... and I suppose that for the most part, at least on Phooka and the Company's managers, you're right... but there are also those of us who came here to do something good, who want to find cures to diseases plaguing people... and those who didn't have a choice other than coming here."

Her voice steadies as she grows more secure. Hicks can't help but feel impressed by the girl's line of reasoning.

"So how did you end up working here?" he asks calmly, making an inviting gesture to the seat opposite him. She takes it.

"Hikahi took me with him when he left Arcturus. I was eleven years old then, and both my father and my brother were killed in the riots. They had been my only family, since my mother died when I was very little, and suddenly I was all alone in a totally devastated city. I had nowhere left to go... so John Hikahi took me with him when he left the planet. He had been our neighbor. He lost his wife in the riots, and couldn't bear the thought of staying in this awful place any longer. He took me along, and we tried to find a good place to forget and to live in... and this is where we landed."

She shakes her head sadly and continues in a suddenly hushed, low, secretive voice as if she's letting him in on her biggest secret.

"If it's any help, Dwayne: I hate it too. Phooka is no place for young, idealistic people like me. If someone would offer me to leave today, I would go, no matter where. But we are not allowed to leave, except down onto the planet we're circling, which is as barren and deserted as they come. Trust me, I know exactly how you feel."

Another silence ensues, but this time, it's a good one, ripe with the feeling of mutual understanding. A comforting silence. Hicks can't believe it, but he actually feels his lips form a little, encouraging smile in her direction...and finds it mirrored in her face. Everything's good between them again. Everything forgiven and forgotten. Apparently, they are nothing but good people caught in a bad mess. Inhaling deeply, he nods toward the case.

"And what kind of game did you bring me?"

The shadow has vanished from her face, as she leans forward to take the case and place it onto the table, opening the two locks.

"Well, it's not exactly a game... it's more of a... test. A learning experience, rather."

"A learning experience, huh?" Hicks views Keisha in wary amusement.

She smiles briefly, hoping that he isn't thinking that this is Phooka's way of training him to be obedient or anything. 'Just wait until he sees the program,' she tells herself. 'He'll understand.' Before she can allow Hicks' mind to be overrun with assumptions, she removes two mechanical devices in the shape of a glove. The moment she hands them over to him she can't help but notice the small twinkle in Hicks' eyes. She takes a seat on the couch, waiting for more of a response. Hicks slowly joins her on the couch. He looks at the gloves for a long time, caught up in the whirlwind of his thoughts.

At first, she thinks that his skeptical side has returned, with more wounding words to say. Instead, however, she's surprised to see a small grin on his face. It's not much but it's there all the same. Slowly, appearing to be deep in thought, Hicks slips his hands into the mechanical glove devices, moving them as he flexes his fingers. They make small electrical sounds as bolts and wires from the devices move. Game controllers, he recalls, remembering how he used to use kick serious ass when his squad decided to throw a few rounds at the 'arcade' back at the Sulaco. Yeah, spending years out in space and spending twice as much of that time in cryo can do that to a man. You're only left with the company of your squad, after all. Because endless trips in space could just about break any person, almost every military vessel had some form of entertainment system designed for comfort.

Of course, the public always bitched on about the Corps and other military branches spending 'their' hard earned taxes to build these 'entertainment' facilities. But, hey, they're not the ones serving their galaxy now, are they? It's not their asses on the line. When push comes to shove, who the fuck do you think the top guys are gonna call? The desk jockeys? Hell, no. The hounds of war, that's who, man. Even back in the old days, bases had these entertainment systems. So, naturally, when soldiers decided to spend their R&R time at the local mall's nearest to their bases, they came prepared. They literally beat and kicked the crap out of those poor pimpled-face kids in those old-fashioned arcade games. Yeah, the ones that still used joysticks and buttons. Ancient stuff. Today, not that much has changed. It's become a tradition to be, not only a soldier with skills of weaponry, but a gamer, too. Hell, he's done some ass-whooping several times once R&R came into play. Never deliberately, though, like that idiot Hudson. Man, that Hudson…

"Well? What do you think?" Keisha smiles, her extremely white teeth glistening.

"Brings back some fond memories," he replies, almost sad.

"I thought… you'd like it…" She lowers her head, not knowing how to feel about Hicks' almost gloomy expression. "If you don't like this, I can take it away…"

"Oh, I like it all right," Hicks tells her, realizing how guilty she looks right now. He adds light-heartedly, "I was this close to asking you if you had any games to come with the entertainment system here." He nods toward the large screen with a chuckle. "Was it your idea?

""Yeah," Keisha slightly blushes, "Hihaki wanted to make sure your motor and mental skills were working properly, or at least to a good level. He was gonna get you doing this way boring task." She laughs. "But I threw in the idea of video games. After all, video games help with reflexes and senses. A lot of people didn't think so back in the time when video games were developed, with the Atari and all. But games have evolved since then and studies have shown the benefits gained from using them. Of course, that doesn't mean people shouldn't take a break and get some fresh air, you know?"

"I know what you mean."

"Anyway, you've been improving so well, Hicks, that I thought it was time to tone the rest of your body functions."

"Yeah, tell me about it." He cracks a thin, somewhat sarcastic, grin. "A week ago I couldn't take a piss all by myself. And now, I'm in for the whole nine yards – including showering. It's been pretty embarrassing, needing help with all this stuff, y' know."

Keisha blushes, her black features turning red. Her mind can only imagine that. No, she tells herself mentally when the image transforms into a fantasy of hers. Be a good girl, Keisha. Don't think about that. If only she could tell that to her raging hormones right now. After all, Hicks really is cute. Granted, he was an ugly duckling before. But as each week passes, Hicks keeps getting better and better. It'll only be a matter of time before he puts on those pounds. And then… well if they ain't busy… maybe they can…?

"Okay," she says, clearing her throat and trying to sound like a doctor. "I think we better get started. Hihaki suggested that you'd spend around a half an hour on it, I'd better get you started."

Keisha moves a little closer to him, feeling a little light-headed at the intimate moment. His thin body may need some work, but his face is a wonder. He must've been a lady killer, provided he wasn't so humble in the past. She can only hope that he can't hear her thumping heart as she hooks up a very thin and clear cable wire to his chest. Sure, there's the implant in his neck, which also monitors his heart-rate, but somehow the VR projector and the implant still refuse to share their information. So, they have to do this the old-fashioned way.

The other end of the wire, she inputs into a small laptop enclosed in the metal case. Flicking up a switch, the small monitor lights up. It shows lines of hills and troughs, demonstrating Hicks' heartbeat. From the looks of things, Hicks already knows how to play these games and probably won't suffer from epileptic seizures caused when exposed to light patterns or flashing lights. Epileptic seizures were a problem with the old generation games, even if only a certain number of people suffered from it. Even those who didn't even have a history of seizures or epilepsy were at risk. Dizziness, altered vision, eye or muscle twitches, loss of awareness, disorientation, or any involuntary movement were common symptoms.

And then there was the problem with the vibrating controllers that came out. A British Medical Journal reported a 15-year-old who developed a severe injury, referred to as "hand-arm vibration syndrome". His hands had become white and swollen when exposed to cold, and red and painful when it was warm. Granted, they've come a long way from this and Hicks probably wouldn't suffer any of these symptoms. Then again, Hicks is still in recovery and vulnerable to even the most basic illness.

She inputs another clear cable directly into the gloved hands' devices. The wire clicks quietly and automatically rotates itself one eighty until it locks into place. The dark skinned woman attaches yet another cable to a pair of virtual reality visors that are colored purple and black. Finally, she hands one of the visors over to Hicks to put on. Hicks gives her a quick smile that sends shivers up her spine. She immediately turns away so that he won't see the blushing on her face.

Hicks doesn't notice Keisha's slightly embarrassed expression. Instead, he puts on the purple and clear glasses. Instantly, his line of vision reveals an entire field full of large red grids and mathematical numbers floating through the air. The words 'loading' appear large and tall. It's as if he's actually right inside a computer, looking up.

"This one of those modified virtual reality sets?" he says as he views his new surroundings, looking left and right. "The ones that cost an arm and a leg?"

Outside the virtual reality setting, Keisha nods her head. "Yep. State-of-the-art."

"Figures. This is only a hunch, but I'm guessing that you boys also created the infamous MASP 9000, huh?"

"That's right."

MASP 9000, which stands for Macro Artificial Space Program. It was basically an artificial super computer that made such an impact to the aerial space programs like NASA. Not only did it create out-of-this-world designs for spacecrafts, but actually gained tons of popularity for the design of new car models. Nowadays, car industries worldwide and beyond use its program to create top of the line models. It made an impact for the history books. Of course, this impressive program could only be created by the single monopoly company: Weyland Yutani.

"Here, put these on too," says Keisha for gently. She puts two nose-like plugs on Hicks' hand as well a smooth sheet of plastic in the shape of a tongue. Even though Hicks can't 'see' these items, he's played the games for such a long time that it's become second nature to him, and he knows what needs to be done. He puts the nose plugs into his nostrils and the plastic into his mouth where it rests comfortably on his tongue. Now he knows that the game has a 'smell' and 'taste'' option.

"So what type of game will I be playing?" he asks, his voice slightly slurred due to the plastic device on his tongue. "Fighting? Role-playing? Car racing?"

"Sorry, this exercise is meant to check and improve on all of your five senses," explains Keisha. "One will be for your hearing. Another for your smell. A third for visual purposes. A fourth for you taste awareness. And last, but not least, the fifth for tactility."

"Meaning, that it's going to be one of those made-for-children games, huh?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that, Hicks. But look at the good news… I'll have Hihaki look into the VR fighting games. I'm sure I'll find some excuse for you to play that."

She grins.

Hicks sees the words 'loading' vanish. The mathematical numbers suddenly come together, making shapes. Hicks 'walks' towards them, hearing clearly their sounds as they bond into something that is round in shape. It doesn't take long for him to see that they're forming an apple. Meanwhile, Keisha puts on another set of visors found inside the metal case. She smiles once she sees Hicks inside the virtual reality setting. He isn't wearing the hospital nightgown anymore nor does he look as pale as he usually does. Rather, he appears very handsome and healthy, wearing blue jeans and a tight white shirt. Overall, his alter ego within the program seems to suit him just fine.

"This program is incredible," Hicks' alter ego says. He notices that Keisha's alter ego is wearing a flowered white dress and make-up. Her hair is pulled back by a beautiful hair decoration. He can't help but notice the smile on her face. It's not the usual one. It's more… serious. Jesus, does Keisha have a crush on him? No. Can't be. Then again, it'll explain why she's been so nice to him all the time. Keisha slowly advances towards him. As she does, she decides to change the environment around them. The program is very flexible. Much like the hologram scenario option in the Phooka facility, she's able to conjure up any place she likes with just a thought.

The black abyss turns into a bright-blue sunny day. A glistening lake is created towards her left while gigantic hills are built across them. Thousands upon thousands of trees emerge from the ground, growing fast. Their branches stretch as bright green leaves appear. She marvels at it, seeing the environment change from an abyss to an enchanting forest.

"How's it going?" she asks gently to Hicks. "Are you feeling nauseated? Some gamers can be very sensitive to virtual reality environments."

"No. I'm good."

"Great. Now, let's get down to business, Hicks. Do you see the apple there?" she points at the object next to him. He nods. "I want you to eat it."

Hicks complies by strolling next to the 'apple' and taking it into his mouth to 'eat' it.

"Well?" Keisha asks. "How are your taste senses?"

"According to my stomach, I'd say that was the best damn thing I've eaten since I came here. Maybe I should eat here more often."

Keisha laughs at his joke. It is very rare for him to tell one. She watches him walking near the lake. He kneels down to look at his face in the water's reflection. Hicks gazes at his face in the water, feeling a little lump form in his throat. His alter ego shows everything he used to be before LV-426. Healthy. Full of life. He wonders if he could conjure up images here… like people. Like long-dead friends. No… They'd still be fake in the end, he reminds himself. That was stupid of him to even consider. Like conjuring up Ripley, Newt, Hudson, and everyone else would make things better? Christ, how can it? Nothing can change reality. As real as this is, as real as that apple tasted, as real as this water smells, nothing here is real. It's a place for people who can't accept the truth. It's a place for fallen dreams and decaying people, like him.

Hicks' suddenly looks up from the water to get away from these thoughts. Keisha, picking up the dark vibe he's suddenly exuding, feels inclined to come to his aid.

"Why don't you show me where you're from, Dwayne?" she asks, hoping to distract him from whatever caused him to frown. "You can change this place as much as I can, you know? Wanna try it?"

He looks at her and straightens out of his crouch, wiping his wet hands dry on his jeans. "Is this already part of the training?"

"As a matter of fact, it is, but .. you know," she shrugs, "-wouldn't it be nice to feel home again?"

"For the five or ten minutes while it lasts?" he retorts. "I'm not sure."

Well, take us some other place, then. Just try it out, you'll like it. Come on."

'_Bad idea, Keisha'_, she tells herself as she observes the marine looking around sceptically. 'Hikahi was right. He's not ready for it, yet.'

"Don't tell me you prefer that boring room you're in to what you could have in here." She watches as his gazes finally finds its way back to her, and he shrugs in resignation.

"All right. What do I have to do?"

"Just think about a place real hard. Try to imagine it as vividly as you can. The program will do the rest. Let it surprise you."

"Hmm…" He's still sounding dubious, but turns around nevertheless, staring at the peak of a mountain that's still visible through the dense foliage above their heads. Takes up his courage… and closes his eyes. Home, she said. She wanted to see the place he used to live in. Well… against some still existing, but weakening inner barrier, the picture of the beautiful, green and blue bay of Gisborne, situated in the east of New Zealand's Northern island takes shape in his head. So fast, it's as if someone switched on a projector. The hills, the blue, pounding sea with the tiny boats he used to observe from his favourite place on a sunny day, screaming seagulls… everything is right, down to the salty smell of the air and the breeze blowing into his face. From somewhere in front of him comes a surprised gasp.

"Oh Dwayne, that's beautiful!"

He opens his eyes, still kind of reluctant – and gasps himself, for the image his eyes are showing him doesn't differ the least bit from the picture he had just conjured up in his mind. It's so real, even the bitterness that used to accompany all thoughts about home, doesn't stand a chance. It's amazing! So amazing, he can't help smile. A wistful smile, yes, but an honest smile. Not sarcastic, or bitter. Something that's been a rarity for him in these past months. And as he takes his eyes away from the sea to look at the girl, he sees real, heart-felt joy in her face. Honest happiness – for him!

"Like it?" he asks nevertheless, and sees her smile broaden.

"It's breath-taking," she replies, beaming. "What place is this?"

"Gisborne, New Zealand." He turns around to let his gaze glide over the rugged hills in the direction of the East Cape. "On Terra."

"Oh… so you're from Earth!"

"Well, I live…I used to live there. Wasn't borne there, though. But since my regiment's stationed at Gateway, I had to move." He nods to himself. "One of the best decisions in my life. Earth's much nicer than Alpha Ceti." He looks back to Keisha, and notices the dreamy expression on her face.

"I've never been to Earth, myself," she admits with a hint of sadness. "I just heard that it's supposed to still be the most beautiful place of them all. None of the colonies can compete with it."

"Well, I don't know about that," he admits. "I guess you could argue that with the people on Elysium… but it's okay."

"Okay?" She stares at him, wide-eyed. "You call this okay? You should have seen Arcturus! Even before the riots, it was nothing but a… nevermind."

"No, no, don't get me wrong. New Zealand's great, I agree," Hicks says, stepping up towards her again. "And some other places, too. But many are still ugly, barren concrete jungles. You know, from back where there was only Earth… with a population of 10 billion people. Shortly before sub-space drive was invented and all these terraforming procedures. They had to chop everything down to put up cities full of high-rise buildings, just to make room for the people. They've started taking them down, and they're making good progress, but it's still gonna take them a while to put everything back to the state it was in. New Zealand was one of only a handful of countries which didn't surrender to overpopulation back then. They shut themselves off from the rest of the world and wouldn't admit any people into their country. It was a big issue back then."

"I know," Keisha nods, fascinated. "I heard about it in school. But it's something completely different coming from someone who experienced it."

He suddenly bursts into a hearty laugh, amazing her even more – that's definitely a first one for him… and it suits him so well! She can tell they're making progress! What a good decision of hers to try this! `Eat this, Dr. Hikahi!' she thinks, almost boasting with satisfaction.

"Geez, Kee, I'm not _that _old," Hicks chuckles, still grinning. "I didn't _experience _it. Just learned it at school, like you." He sees her complexion darken considerably. "Come on, do I look like Methuselah to you?"

"You could well be over 100 years old for all I know," she defends herself, abashed. "With the cryo-sleep slowing down the aging process-"

"Yeah, right." He tries to calm down, not wanting to embarrass the young nurse. "But I would have had to spend 70 years of the last 100 in it to look like this." He shakes his head. "Not even I would have taken a job that would lead me so far away from home. Whenever we left we only needed three or four weeks of cryo-sleep, max."

"Okay…" she bites her lips… and smirks at him from under her brows. "Say, _Methuselah_… would you like to take me on a little sightseeing-tour? I'd like to see more."

"Keep insulting me and all you'll see is the door of this room closing in your face," he retorts, returning her smirk.

"Sorry." Her voice mimics the tone of a very small child whose daddy's angry at her. "Please?"

He laughs again, causing her heart to jump with joy.

"Alright, alright. I've never been able to resist the 'puppy dog eyes'." Still smirking, he observes their surroundings for one last time, busily searching for an image to replace it.

"Hold on, here we go…" This time, he keeps his eyes open and watches the transformation of his mind's image into pseudo-reality, feeling like some sort of eternal being as he sees the deep fjords of Doubtful Sound take shape around them, followed by Milford Sound… Mount Taranaki… getting completely caught up in the virtual world his mind conjures up without effort.

"Oh, Dwayne, this is incredible!" his guest utters, gasping with amazement again. "And you are doing great, see? I knew you could handle this! If you want to, I can talk to Hikahi and let you play with this every day. Would you like that?"

"Sure," he replies half-heartedly, not really listening to Keisha, because he's just thought of another site he wants to show her. Suddenly, they're enveloped in thick blackness.

"Uh… Dwayne?"

"Just wait. Your eyes are still tuned to the light. It'll come in a few moments." The rushing of the water tells him he did right. They're in the cave. And as he keeps staring straight into the darkness, it comes to life… with millions – no, myriads! – of tiny, sparkling stars, surrounding them, making him feel as if he were floating through space.

"Oh…." Words seem to fail her, but suddenly he feels her hand taking his, pressing it. "Oh, this is… so beautiful! What is this?" He lets her hold on, seeing only a faint outline of her in the weak glow.

"Glow-worms."

"What?"

"Tiny insects. They give off light with the back of their bodies." He cranes his neck back to look at the galaxy of lights on the ceiling, satisfied over her wonder… and creases his brow as he comes to a completely dark spot further back, wondering why there's none of the glow-worms there.

_The spot moves._

"Ouch!" Hicks barely hears Keisha's surprised protest, or feels her wiggling her hand out of his. "Dwayne, what's-"

It moves. _Towards them_! And it's _big_ – at least man-sized! Obliterating the light where it moves across the ceiling, a darker shape than the artificial night enveloping it. `No… no…' He takes a step back, hearing an accelerating beeping behind them! The tracker signal! It doesn't lie!

'_Can't be. They can't be here!'_

"Dwayne? Dwayne, what is it? Ow!"

"Run, Keisha!" He shoves her in the direction of the entrance, when suddenly their surroundings change again without warning – into the bare, metal corridors of Hadley's Hope, and now he sees them, spilling out in dozens from a hole in the ceiling, glistening, chitinous black nightmare figures! The sparkle on chrome jaws, grinning death! Grinning at him! "Run as fast as you can!" He's already racing down the walkway at full tilt, when he notices she's not beside him – and turns around to see her, down on her knees, where she's fallen ten meters behind him, the closest alien just about to reach her. "Keisha!"

"Dwayne, it's not-"

The aberration grabs her head, double-fingered claws digging into her face – and yanks her up towards the ceiling with a moist ripping sound.

"Nooooo!" His legs denying him further service, frozen on the spot, he stares at the wave of aliens rushing at him. Dozens of them. Closing in. Grinning at him. Their grin saying, "We've finally got you!" Surrounding him until all he sees is a squirming pile of glistening chitin and sparkling chrome. `Got you! We've got you!'

"Nooooo!"

Light explodes all around.

"-not real, Dwayne! Dwayne! Calm down!"

They seize him and drag him back, and he knows just where they're taking him – and fights, summoning strength he didn't know he had left, to wrench free of their grip, to escape Apone's fate, to-

"Hold him, dammit!"

"Dwayne, Dwayne, it's me! Whatever you seeing, it's not –"

"Shut the fuck up, Keisha, and hold him down! Isis!"

"Got him!"

An iron grip pins him down, presses his arms to the floor as if they were shackled down to it.

"Noo! Get off me! Get off me!"

A tiny prick in the pit of his elbow… and suddenly, his arms slackens, and he feels something like liquid lead move through his veins, spreading through his body with every pulse, paralysing him. His muscles won't obey his will anymore.

_`Gorman… they did the_ _same to Gorman… no….'_

"Dwayne, oh my God, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" The girl's face appears above him, hovering in his blurred vision like a strange moon, moisture glittering on her cheeks. Something touches his face. He's so tired…" "I didn't mean to-"

"How can anyone be so stupid as to subject him to the VR processor yet?" an angry, male voice booms in from afar. "Shit, Keisha, look what you've done!"

"I bet you didn't even tell Dr. Hikahi, did you?" Another voice, one he's vaguely familiar with, but by now, the words have lost their meaning to Hicks. They're just background noise, their meaning slipping from his feeble grasp as he sinks deeper and deeper…

* * *

**Hadley's Hope, Day 11, 2300 hours**

"Dwayne..." This is Ripley, probably back to check whether Vasquez... whether it's already over. "Dwayne, I don't mean to disturb you, but... this might be important."

He looks up, tired, beat. Feeling a million years old. Not really caring. What could be important after what just happened? "What?"

She comes to a halt right in front of him, her face compassionate, but also strangely preoccupied. Tense. "There's something going on in the corridors. The RSS alarms won't cease... and we still can't find Burke."

A face emerges from behind her back, looking at him questioningly. He looks at the girl, then up to Ripley. Shrugs. "So what? His people are responsible for this mess. I hope the aliens got him!" He just can't find the energy in himself to give a shit. Ripley looks down at him, slowly shaking her head.

"Even if that's the way I'm feeling, too... something's going on outside. Gorman thinks we had better check it out."

"Well, if he's waiting for my consent, tell him to be my guest."

"He's not waiting for your consent." Her voice grows firm. "He's waiting for you to come with him. You know, to cover each other's backs."

It earns her a weary smile.

"You see where all this back-covering's landed us. We're not terribly efficient with it. He might be better off alone."

She narrows her eyes, as if she can't believe what she's hearing, then leans down to say something to Newt that's too low for Hicks to hear. The girl leaves.

"So that's it? You've given up?"

"Uh-huh..." He meets her hard stare for a moment, before his gaze goes to the table where Vasquez is lying. "You can count, can't you? We were fifteen – including Bishop – when we came here... now it's just you, Gorman, Bishop and me... and the girl, and about one clip of ammunition for Gorman and me to protect us with. I'd say the odds are pretty lousy. Whenever they decide to come for us, we won't have much left to keep them off."

"Has it ever occurred to you that your calculation may be wrong? In their favour?"

"Huh?" He squints at her, not really eager to listen any further.

"You are still counting on an army of them, aren't you?"

"I think it's safe to assume there are more of them than we can handle, yes."

"But you might be wrong!" Ripley leans forward, intensity written on her face. "Just count: There were 157 colonists in Hadley's Hope... even if they had all been impregnated, there can't have been more than 157 aliens total. 156, since they didn't get Newt. "

"Not enough for you?" Hicks throws in acidly. She ignores it.

"As we've seen, the colonist didn't go down without a fight. We saw a number of some acid-holes on our way to Operations, big holes, right? Big holes equalling dead alien. Listen to me!" She's still not getting through to him. "Let's say they killed ten of them. Maybe more."

"Heck, yeah, maybe they killed them all, and what we're dealing with are just the aliens' ghosts," he hisses, angry. "What're you trying to say? That there are only a handful left to deal with?"

"Just do the math," she insists. "First the colonists, then your team over at the atmosphere processor. You did some pretty bad damage to them. And then their first attempt in the tunnel... I would bet everything that at least seventy or eighty of them were killed right then! And another twenty or thirty in the corridor. Just do the math, Dwayne! There can't be too many left!"

"It's all nothing but speculation!" He raises his voice. "Just listen to yourself! All I'm hearing is "Maybe, maybe, maybe"! Maybe it's not like you're saying! Huh? What then? What if there are still seventy or eighty of them out there, psyching themselves up for another go at us? You saw how fast these bastards heal up! Maybe most of them got away, hid in a corner to sprout a new arm or leg, and are just getting ready to give it to us with a vengeance! "

"I don't think-"

"You don't think!" he yells, right into her face. "You don't think! Know what? You don't know! Everything's possible! With this kind of activity in the corridors right now, it's likely they're preparing another ambush for us we won't be able to answer! Not with just one clip!"

He stops, breathing hard. God knows, he didn't want to yell at Ripley. After all, she's just doing her best to cheer him up , to not make it look hopeless. But if there's something he has in abundance, it's field expertise... and he knows a lost mission when he's part of one.

"I'm sorry..." His voice is low again. "That's just the way it is."

When Ripley answers, it's not with anger, but rather with sorrow. "It's sad to see when someone loses his optimism..." She expects at least a glare, but all she gets is a consternated frown.

"Yeah, well... I guess reality finally caught up with me." His gaze lies once again on the dead smart gun-operator. "Took me a while... guess I'm a slow learner..."

Now it's his opposite who's taking a deep breath. Her voice is calm, in spite of having just been yelled at. "So... what are you going to do now? Just sit here, wallowing in self-pity and waiting for them to get you?" He doesn't answer, so she gets out the most efficient weapon she can think of to rip him out of his stupor… even if she hates having to resort to it. "If they come, they won't kill just you… I'm sure you know this.

His stare grows hard, and for a brief moment, she fears she's gone too far. "Trying the good old guilt-trip, huh?" His voice is dangerously low, contradicting the diamond-hard sparkle in his eyes. "It's not enough I've got to blame myself for Vasquez and Hudson's deaths – now you want to hold me responsible for everything that could happen to you and Newt, too." With a start, he jumps to his feet, a grim expression on his face that makes Ripley recoil from him. "Tell you what – it works… but I didn't think you'd sink low enough to use it."

"Dwayne-"

He leaves her standing and heads for Operations.

"Lieutenant?" Gorman's face is a single, unasked question "You ready to go?"

"Yes." The officer's still looking uncomfortable. "Are you… are you sure you want to…" He interrupts himself. "Are you alright?" Considering the blood-caked skin and clothes of his opposite, the question seems rather absurd, but he has to know. He doesn't look at Hicks, but rather at Ripley who's entering Operations behind the Corporal with a set-in-stone look on her face. Even Bishop looks concerned. Hicks shrugs as he takes the one still functional pulse rifle from the console.

"Hell, yeah. I still know how to shoot, and my eyes work, too. Should be enough to do this, right?" He looks up. "Or do you want it?"

Gorman raises the hand with his pistol. "I'd rather take this. You are probably better with the rifle than me. And I'll take along the flashlight, too."

"Okay." One last check, then he takes the heavy weapon up and throws a direct look over at Ripley. "I'd say we're good to go then." He turns on his heels and heads for the door. "Lieutenant?"

He's halfway through punching the manual code into the keypad, when he remembers something and turns his neck to look back. "Bishop? You're armed, right?" The android shows him the weapon. "How many rounds left?"

"Six."

Hicks nods, for once losing the hard expression he has been wearing over the last minutes and replacing it with genuine concern as he grabs his headset and adjusts the mike just below his lips.

"If it comes to the worst…" He doesn't finish his sentence, but then, he doesn't have to. Bishop understands perfectly well. "Will you be able to do this? With your behaviour-inhibitors and…? Will they let you…you know?"

He struggles hard to ignore Ripley and Newt, who are standing right next to the android. A cold fist presses his stomach together at the thought of the worst-case scenario becoming real. Of little Newt, who comforted him just a few minutes back, having her head blown away after all she has endured over the last six or seven weeks. Of Ripley, too, even if she just came down brutally hard on him. He doesn't want her dead.

"Don't worry, Hicks," Bishop reassures him. "They won't get them. I'll make sure they won't."

"Thanks…" he says, rather to himself, giving his synthetic team-member the little approving nod he's waiting for, before he turns back to punch in the rest of the code. "Lieutenant? What's the tracker saying?"

"Nothing."

And now they all hear it, too – the alarm has stopped. Everything's silent again. After listening for a few more heartbeats, Hicks opens the door. Tenses. The dark corridor lies in front of him, fifty meters to the junction with the main corridor, then, after the corner, 400 meters of solid blackness of the main walkway with its many ventilation shafts, connecting corridors and doors, each one a possible place for an ambush. Everything's silent. Expectant. Just waiting for them to come out of hiding? He inhales deeply and silently, straining his ears as much as he can to pick up any detectable sign of danger.

"Anything?"

Ripley's voice, whispering. He shakes his head. Waiting a few seconds longer, scanning the walls, the ceiling in the hardly penetrable twilight. He even checks out the shredded bodies of the four xenomorphs lying in a pile just opposite the entrance. Checks for even the tiniest move, even though the huge acid hole leading to them tells him they must be dead. But then, they had been thinking the same about the one that was responsible for wasting their precious last ten rounds from the RSS sentries, right? He gives himself a good, hard, mental kick. If they don't go now, they'll probably stay frozen to the spot for all eternity.

"Let's go." Exchanging a glance with his officer, he takes the first step, pulse rifle ready for action. "Bishop? Close the door behind us."

"Be careful." Ripley again. He doesn't respond, and a moment later the pneumatic hiss of the mechanism tells them they are alone.

* * *

**'IVORY TOWER', Phooka Station**

"Dr. Saitchev? Dr. Saitchev, would you please come over here for a second?"

"My shift's over, Yoshi," the tall Russian-born psychologist informs his staff member, holding up a ceramic mug. "I'm only still here for the coffee."

"Yes, I know, but-"

"The corporal again?"

"Why – yes. How do you-"

"He's always dreaming like this. And after what happened this afternoon, it was to be expected. Medication's wearing off, dreams starting again… perfectly normal."

"But, shouldn't we give him something again?" Yoshi Tanaka looks up in puzzlement as his superior leans over his table to take a look at the monitor which is showing the restlessly spinning and thrashing marine. He points at a scale. "Look at his heartbeat! We should really-!

"It'll wake him all by himself when it's fast enough, Yoshi," Saitchev calms him down. "No need to worry. Have you never had a nightmare?"

"Yes, but not like him."

"They're all the same. Just let him ride it out. He's got to come to grips with this stuff sooner or later anyway. Darwin wants him unspoiled for her project. We can't start pumping him full of this psycho-pharmaceutical shit. He's a tough guy – he can deal with it." He turns away. "By the way, that cappuccino is i-n-c-r-e-d-i-b-l-e! Want some too?"

* * *

**Hadley's Hope, Day 11, 2330 hours**

"Anything?"

"Nothing."

Their surroundings are still as quiet as a graveyard as they move on, carefully, further down the main walkway. Behind the still watchful, but empty RSS units, it's littered with the corpses of more aliens than Hicks can count on first sight, and Ripley's words echo in his head. What if she's right? What if they did indeed already decimate those bastards to the point where there's only a handful of them left? Maybe they've got them just as scared of them now, as they are of the aliens? There must be over 50 lying around here, so many, it's in fact hard finding a way through them. There are more holes in the ground than intact grating, and they really have to watch their footing. Just one wrong step, and they could seriously injure themselves by treading through a hole and cutting themselves on a razor-sharp steel strut. It doesn't make their task any easier.

"Lieutenant?"

Hicks all but whispers it, but still the noise strikes him as treacherously loud. Gorman looks back. Hicks motions to the robot sentries, and then performs a cut-throat gesture telling the officer he intends to silence them before the wailing alarm gives them away once they step in front of them. It barely takes him a minute to disable the sirens. A small nod to Gorman. Confirmation to proceed. The officer takes a couple of steps before he comes to another halt, illuminating the gruesome scenery on the ground before them: biomechanical arms, legs, tails, rumps, even heads lie strewn in a state of complete disarray on the floor for as far as the flashlight reaches. Hicks cocks an eyebrow in amazement.

'_Looked like the bastards really got their rears kicked hard by the robot sentries. '`Yeah,'_ the sceptic voice in his head concludes. `_But still they came back for more, remember? You didn't scare them off, not even with this massacre.'_

"Now what?" Gorman shines the light in his direction. "If the ground breaks beneath us…" He follows Hicks' gaze up to the ceiling, looking for any handles they could use to avoid the treacherous floor. The corporal is the first one to silently shake his head to himself.

"No good. We'll have to jump from spot to spot." The doubts in Gorman's face are the same ones he's feeling as the lieutenant lights the ground in front of them, looking for a safe way. "Tracker?"

"Still nothing."

"All right…"

Hicks braces for the effort. Two meters. This should be possible – even if he isn't looking forward to landing on a heap of dead aliens. If some of that acid is still active… 'Keep the light like this, okay?' Switching the safety of his rifle on for the jump, he takes aim. Three fast steps – and then he lands on a pile of bodies, crouching, half expecting to hear the familiar hissing of the acid eating into his boots. Nothing. Relieved, he straightens and gives Gorman the thumbs up, taking two steps aside after having checked the floor. The next second, the lieutenant is at his side.

Together, they make their way through the mine-field of half dissolved grating, at last jumping over a wide hole that spans the entire width of the corridor. Another look at the tracker's readouts, almost expecting it to show nothing after the eternity it's been quiet while they made their way down here… but just as they look down, a single, sharp tone makes them jump! Hicks moves his lips in a silent curse as he checks out the reading, his fingers switching off the pulse rifle's safety automatically. The signal's hardly there, meaning they're at least 200 meters away. What to do now? His mind's racing…

"Bishop?" He barely dares to mumble into his headset. "We got something here…"

"Tell them to come back!" he hears Ripley in the background, sounding nervous.

"A big signal?"

Hicks checks again, motioning Gorman to take a few steps into the direction of the contact. The signal's getting more insistent, and now he's seeing more than just one blue dot on the monitor.

"Three… so far. About 200 meters down the corridor."

"Can you see anything yet?"

"Negative. Too far. And it's too dark. We can't see more than the next seven or eight meters." He curses himself for leaving his helmet with the in-built infrared-visor behind. "Got anything, any… messages or so? It could be the rescue team… but I'd think they'd send us a message prior to coming in. They wouldn't want us to blow them away."

He waits for the android's reply.

"There's nothing. And the satellite's still working."

Another tense glance exchanged between him and Gorman. A deep breath.

"Okay…we'll go investigate. Tell me when you hear anything. As long as you don't, stay quiet. We need our ears out here. Hicks, over and out." He watches Gorman disable the audio-alarm that would give them away as soon as they got closer.

"Good luck, Corporal. Bishop, over and out."

Silence again.

"All right, let's go…"

Another glance reveals two more contacts and causes his stomach to freeze. If these are indeed aliens…Falling into place at the Lieutenant's side, matching his stride, he can't help looking at the signal again and again. Another one now. Six! It can't be Burke, that's for sure. So where is the bastard? When was the last time he saw him? Something heavy clatters to the floor in front of them, the thunderous echo racing through the silence. Some commotion follows, but too low to be identified as either human or alien noise. Hicks feels the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand up. All of a sudden, the air appears to be almost to thick too breathe.

"Ssssshhhh…."

Gorman comes to a stop , holds up the tracker. The entire monitor is now one single blue blur. Ten contacts, at least. His face is an open question.

'_Should we really proceed?'_

Hicks doesn't know. He doesn't want to. But what would they win if they went back? Sure, they could backtrack and hole up again in Operations, without knowing what's going on. And then? Maybe, if they'd proceeded right now, they would at least have surprise on their side and be able to do some damage – they'd have the chance to act, not to react! Maybe their chances for survival would be bigger this way! Maybe, maybe, maybe! Annoyed with himself, he comes to a decision. Lets Gorman know about it with a curt nod and gestures for him to switch off the flashlight.

As soon as the light goes, the darkness closes in on them. An almost solid, thick environment heavy with silence and foreboding dread. Hell, he doesn't want to go_… `Cut the BS,_ _soldier!'_ his inner drill-instructor sneers at him. _`You really wanna go back and tell them you were too_ _much of a chicken to check the signal out?'_ Somehow, he manages to take the first step, even though his feet are still feeling somewhat reluctant. Another glance at the read-out. 120 meters to rendezvous point. The entire monitor's blue. If it's the aliens, they'll walk straight into their deaths…

"Hicks-"

"Ssssshh!" he shuts Ripley off, focusing on the corridor straight ahead.

100 meters to go.

The end of the walkway is solid black. They can't see shit. What if the aliens are just waiting for them on the other side, seeing them clear as day, while they're poking around in the dark. What's worse? Using the flashlight and telling their presence to every non-alien who might be looking from hundreds of meters away… or continuing in this darkness that's only broken by occasional flying sparks from severed circuits or the flickering of a not entirely dead neon-light?

Seventy meters.

Why is he afraid of being seen by the rescue team anyway? Shouldn't they rather run towards them, shouting and revealing their presence to avoid being accidentally confused with any of those sneaky bio-mechanoid bastards and tragically shot?

Fifty meters.

He holds up his hand, silently telling Gorman to stop and listen. It should be possible to hear something now, judging by how massive this signal is. But straining his ears as he might, there's nothing but the distinct crackling of a severed circuit somewhere off to the left, raining blue-white sparks down from the ceiling. Otherwise, there's nothing but silence, and his vivid imagination throws up the image of a pile of squirming, glistening nightmare-creatures, silently waiting for them just around the corner, ready to pounce. Smart enough not to round it themselves and jump into his line of fire while he's ready for it. If they'll have to round the corner, it'll be to their disadvantage.

_`Okay,_ _proceed.'_

He doesn't say it, but Gorman, showing that he didn't earn his officer rank for nothing, understands him without words. At last, Hicks has to give the man some credit. After all, he's a rookie who had been thrown into the worst of circumstances. With almost no prior combat experience, it's no wonder he panicked when things went sour. It had been easy at first for everybody to lay the blame entirely on their incompetent officer… but they've been unfair. Gorman tries hard to make up for his blackout at the processing station – he really needs to give him a break now, even if… if he shot - _`Stop it!_' The mental drill-instructor again. Always handy when he needs him.

_`You can't afford to_ _think about this now!'_

Thirty meters.

They're almost at the corner now. Hicks' entire skin is tingling, muscles so tense he can feel them cramping in his neck and arms, locking, almost. His pulse is thunder in his ears, a rhythm of two beats reverberating three words: _`Friend or fiend? Friend or fiend? Friend or'- _From the corners of his eyes, he sees Gorman securing the tracker to his belt and raising the pistol instead. Beads of sweat glisten on his forehead, running down his tense face. He's afraid. Deadly afraid. Doesn't want to proceed. Just like Hicks himself. Better to get this over with as long as they're still able to move. Hicks looks over and sees Gorman nod. He's ready. _Okay… ready… set…_

_GO!_

Three, four fast steps around the corner, pulse rifle ready, finger on the trigger. Gorman right behind him. Dark figures ahead, big. Many! Looking like-

"Hold it!"

"It's them!"

Burke's voice. Burke?! A spear of light stabs into his face, and for a heartbeat, he feels like an animal on the street, captured by the beam of an approaching car. The rescue team! Help's finally arrived! They're safe! They're-

"Don't shoot!"

Gorman, relieved to no ends, letting his hand sink. Whoosh! A noise he knows all to well. Even before his head has identified it as the raising of rifles in front of him, his leg-muscles catapult him down and to the side, back behind the corner – as the silence explodes into hellfire!

_`Gorman -! Forget it, he's gone!'_ Red-glowing shrapnel from the shredded wall rains down on Hicks as he rolls to his feet in one fluent move and races back down the corridor, leaving the pulse rifle behind. All that can save him now is speed!

"Hicks? Hicks- what's going-"

"Bishop!" he yells into the microphone, simultaneously trying to concentrate on seeing enough in the twilight to not run against a support beam or into the holes in the ground, listening to the commotion behind him and telling the android what to do. "Bishop, they're Weyland Yutani elite guards! They're here to kill us!" Angry gunfire behind him, and the next moment he's in the middle of a hail of bullets. "Fuck!"

He turns sharp right, crashing into a slowly opening door, squeezing through before it's halfway open. Slams his palm on the switch to close. Too slow! Too slow! Reverberation of heavy steps coming his way.

'_Go, go, GO!'_

The door slams shut, and he kills the mechanism with two quick shots from his pistol, just when a burst of heavy fire explodes against the steel. Stepping back, he searches frantically for a way out.

"Hicks! What's happening?"

"They've come to kill us, Bishop! Seal the door! Barricade it! They're almost there! They already killed Gorman!"

"What?! But how are you supposed to-"

"DO IT!" An ominous hissing comes from the door, and looking back, he sees a bright red dot on the right side of the door. His heartbeat accelerates even further. "I can't make it down the corridor! Give me Ripley!" Spinning on his heels, he takes in the room in a matter of seconds. The red dot's become bright orange. There! There it is!

"Dwayne?"

"Just listen, Ellen, there's no time! They're cutting through the door!" he screams, stepping up to the ventilation shaft on the right wall, checking out the grille protecting it. "I need to you to help me find a way back to you!"

"Hold on."

The sound of faint steps over the earphones. Another frantic look back. Bright yellow-white, molten steel drops down inside the door. It can only be a matter of another minute before they're through! Securing the pistol in his belt, Hicks grabs the grille with both hands and pulls.

"I'm at the tactical console now. I can see your PDT readout!"

God, this woman's a miracle! Always knows what to do! And how right she's been to be afraid of the `rescue team'! She knew all along! One more violent jerk, and the vent lies open for him to use. One last look over his shoulder. They're already shoving the door open manually! He pulls up, not even thinking twice over eventually running into an alien in the darkness in front of him. Right now, Death is behind him, and it's real close!

"I'm in a air duct. Watch my progress and tell me whether I'm going in the right direction!"

He can only move on hands and knees, but adrenaline pushes his body forward, making him fly. An intersection, he needs an intersection, or all they'll have to do to finish him off is to let loose just one burst of fire into the vent!

"Okay! Looking good so far."

"Is there an intersection coming up?"

A short, torturous break. Sure, the blueprints are complicated to read, but man -! _`Come on!'_ he urges her quietly, racing further along. The darkness around him is so thick, he's in constant danger of running his head in on anything protruding into the vent. Still nothing behind him, but they must be there any second now.

"Ellen?"

"Only leading up. Nothing to the sides."

"I don't care!" Inwardly, he curses. Of course he cares – a chimney-ascent on smooth steel walls over more than a few meters will be impossible! But since he's got no choice… "Where?"

"You're almost upon it! Slow down!"

Voices behind him, muffled in the narrowness of the vent. Someone shouting orders. They're in! Frantically, his hands search the ceiling – and finds the opening! Tight enough to work! Not thinking twice, he stands up, propping his back and boots against the walls – when he hears the "Whooooosh" of expanding gas, and the darkness below him explodes in a bright orange fireball! The flame's not powerful enough to reach him, but the heat that's rising up to him is no less intense; scorching his skin and making him hiss in pain.

"Dwayne!"

The metal under his back gets hot, and he climbs up frantically, faster, faster, pushing himself higher up the vertical vent, not caring whether he'll look into grinning metal jaws once he finds the time to look up.

"Aw, hell!"

Another "Whoooooosh", and more heat, blistering his back through his clothes – when, abruptly, the shaft ends and his searching hands find the space of a connecting duct! He pulls himself up and into the horizontal tunnel just as a flurry of ricocheting bullets races up with a high whine behind him, one of them embedding itself into the sole of his boot!

"Dwayne! Dwayne, are you alright?"

Ripley's voice comes booming over the earphones. Gasping and panting, lying flat on his stomach in the connecting duct, Hicks waits for his breath to return and the stinging on his back to subside before he answers.

"I'm okay…" Two more deep breaths. „How's Bishop doing?"

"The door's sealed, and he's getting started on the barricade."

"Hole up in MedLab! Let him barricade the door, and then go to MedLab, and seal it, too."

He pushes himself up again, ready to proceed. He doesn't hear anything from behind, but then again, he's too far away by now. Will they believe they got him and make for the others now?

"But then how are you supposed to get back to us?" Ripley asks, worried. "I can't monitor you once I leave, and if you take a wrong turn-"

Right.

"How's my direction right now?"

"Okay."

"Okay." His body goes on automatic while his mind races, searching for a solution. "Any intersections?" A short pause.

"Four… to both sides. And four crossing the duct vertically."

Meaning, he's got to watch it, or he'll fall down and land with a splat maybe thirty meters below. Not good.

"Damn…!"

"The first will be in about twenty meters… and they are evenly spaced. Every fifty meters."

This could help. If he measures his strides between two of the intersections, he could be able to navigate in here even in complete darkness… if nothing else happens, and only in case he won't meet any… other passers-by. But how is he supposed to know when he's reached MedLab?

"How far am I away from you?"

She doesn't respond right away, but he hears her breathing into his ears, then muttering a low curse.

"What?"

"They're at the door…" There's fear in her voice.

"How far am I away from MedLab? Just tell me this, and then you take Newt and Bishop, go there and seal it off! You got that?"

"Yes." She inhales deeply. "280 meters to MedLab. I don't know, Dwayne, there's a lot that can go wrong…"

"Right now, it's not like we have a choice," he retorts, trying to speed up. "Do it!" Another idea hits him. "Hide in the vents! Newt knows her way around there blindly! And I'll be making some ruckus when I think I'm near! You'll hear me! These vents carry the noise quite well. We should be able to find each other!"

"Okay…"

She's still sounding doubtful, but he can't understand what else she's saying, because he hears Bishop overlapping, urging her to leave.

"Go now!"

"Good luck!"

"To you, too!"

* * *

**The 'IVORY TOWER', Phooka Station**

Up in the control room, Yoshi Tanaka shakes his head to himself as he watches the image of the restless marine.

"Man, we really ought to wake him…"

A shadow falls over him from behind, and he turns to see whether Dr. Saitchev's back to tell him to go ahead. But no, it's his android girlfriend, checking out the image on the monitor with her usual non-telling face. Tanaka's eyes follow the black lines around her delicate eyebrows admiringly, not really caring what the synthetic will think about being gaped at from up close. And sure enough, just as he follows another intricate line on her brow, it changes its form to a high peak as its bearer cocks an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"Never seen me before, Mr. Tanaka?"

Caught, he feels his face flush. Damn, why should he feel embarrassed just because of some stupid android? In spite of the redness of his face, Tanaka manages to glare in anger at his visitor. After all, Darwin told them that Isis was officially ranked below him now, right? He doesn't need to take shit from her anymore! By God, he's had to take enough from her already.

"Got a problem, Isis?" he retorts coldly. "Maybe you wanna tell Kurtz or Darwin about it." He sees his reply sink in, but can't tell its effect. She's too good at keeping her expression guarded. Instead, she's turning towards the monitor again as if he didn't exist.

"Tell me when he wakes. I'll go down and-"

"-and what?" Tanaka laughs. 'Calm him? Hold his hand? You?! That's a good one!'

Her expression remains unchanged, but her voice descends to that chilly tone he's heard far to often directed at himself.

"Laugh as much as you want to, but tell me. I've got my orders, and you've got yours. If you don't follow them, I'm going to report it to Darwin." With one last glance at Hicks, she turns to leave, not looking back at the fuming Tanaka. "You know how to reach me."

* * *

**Hadley's Hope, Day 12, 0030 Hours**

51… 52… 53… Hicks slows down, recalling he must by now be almost upon the final vertical shaft Ripley told him about. Somewhere right in front of him must be the last bottomless hole, and – not much further – Operations and, finally, MedLab, below him. All he'll have to do is find a way down, but he's going to cross that bridge when he's at it.… 58… 59… What was that?

He comes to a stop and strains his ears, trying to make out the noise that was loud enough to make it through the thundering of his heartbeat and heavy breaths. Voices. Voices from below, shouting orders. He thinks he's making out Burke, but just as he tries harder to decipher the exact words, the loud hissing of the welding torch drowns them out. So, they're still at the door! Good. Good indeed!

Grinning grimly into the darkness, Hicks prepares to shove himself further along the vent – when he hears it… or rather, feels it…vibrations under his hands, the thin steel shaking under something heavy – coming his way! He freezes, his blood ice-water, heartbeat accelerating into overdrive. They're here! Here in the air duct with him, and they finally found him! Somehow the 38mm appears in his hand without him realizing he's even taken it, aiming into the pitch-black darkness in front of him. Six shots is all he's got left! Six shots only! Not enough for a – the whole duct's shaking under the heavy impact now, and he can't see shit! What can he do? What can he – nerve-wracking screeching of diamond-hard claws digging into the alloy of the shaft, the sound of something heavy moving with inhumane speed – and a gust of wind hitting his face with the smell of wet metal – and then it's gone, and somewhere below him all hell breaks loose!

The angry bellow of heavy weaponry mixes with a wet ripping sound and surprised, shocked shrieks! Mesmerized, Hicks remains on his haunches for a moment longer, not able to believe his luck! For the light that's pouring up into the darkness from the vertical shaft, telling him that the alien ripped right through the ceiling to attack the humans below, is just barely one meter away from his position! Just one step, or push, further, and the alien would have crashed right into him! The realization of how close it was nauseates Hicks, but the sharp twang of a bullet ripping through the vent from below not far behind him puts him in motion again. He's close! Only thirty or fourty meters further, and he'll be right over MedLab, and then all he has to do is find a way down to –

_`Move it, soldier!'_ he orders himself silently, searching for the continuation of the shaft on the other side of the hole, inwardly praying not to run into another alien – and then he's found it, and hurries along, not bothering to listen to the ruckus behind and below him. Squeezing the last reserves into his burning muscles, he moves through the darkness, still counting. 12… 13…14… far enough?

"Ripley? Bishop?" he tries tentatively, feeling naked and exposed as soon as he's opened his mouth. Nothing. But then again, he's hardly been shouting… more like 'talking real low', almost whispering. 21…22… 23…He clears his throat. "Ripley? Bishop? You hear me?"

"-lo?" an unrecognisable voice echoes to him from what's sounding miles away. "ee – ere! Do you – "

"Ellen?" He shouts back, and almost falls headlong into another hole in the ground. Cursing, he manages just in time to keep his balance and come to a stop. His outstretched hand doesn't find any walls in front of him at all. A major crossroads. Fine. Just dandy! "Ellen, that you?"

"-ayne? You hear me?"

"Yes, I hear you! Keep on making noise, I'm coming!"

Turning his inner radar on, he concentrates on Ripley's voice in an attempt to filter the real source from the dozens of echoes travelling through the venting system… a next to impossible task, as he soon realizes! This is the second tunnel he's tried, and the voice is sounding further away the more he's going into what he's thinking must be the right direction. Frustrated, he sits back.

"Ellen? Ellen, do you hear me? Am I closer now?"

Nothing for some long, anxious moments.

"-ne? – almost –one! me –ack!"

"Dammit…"

Muttering to himself, he slides back to the intersection backwards, as to not suddenly lose all sense of direction and head back straight the way he came without knowing.

_`Guess_ _I'm too high up. I need to get at least one level down.'_

Just having finished this thought, Hicks feels his feet dangle over the abyss. Time to take a chance? Shutting down all further contemplation, he pushes himself back until he's hanging in the vertical shaft, no visible ground below him. Let go? Not let go? Straddling, he searches for another opening with his feet. None. His arm muscles start to burn. Let go? Pull up? How high up can he be? No more than four, six meters, right?

_`High enough to break my legs,_ for _sure!'_

Before he can think better of it, his fingers lose their grip on the edge, and he falls – falls! Lands on something with a weird crunching noise, the impact running through his body – and then the ground beneath his feet gives way, and he falls further down, into blinding brightness, landing on something that clatters away under his weight and crashes to the ground, bumping his head on the edge of a desk.

"Ouch!"

For a long moment, there's nothing he can do except trying to catch his breath, holding his throbbing head and waiting for his eyes to readjust to the light.

_`Up! Up! Up! Up!' _

When his surroundings finally stumble into view, he sees to his endless relief the familiar room with the two canned facehuggers, their stasis prisons illuminating the scene in a soft, blue light. This is MedLab! He actually made it! But where –

Hicks jumps to his feet, taking the hand out of his hair, briefly checking for blood on his fingers, but he seems to have been lucky. His glance goes back to the door to the corridor connecting MedLab and Operations. Nobody here yet, but he can't see any kind of barricade. Whatever. He needs to find the others now. Turning on his heels, he checks the walls, hurriedly recalling the exact locations of the ventilation shafts down here. The first grille he sees is still intact.

Next room. Storage, right? There it is, the open mouth of the duct they took. Relief floods through him He must be real close now! Getting down on his knees, he suddenly hears voices behind him, muffled and indistinct, but coming closer! Okay… let's buy themselves some precious minutes… He slides into the opening backwards, putting the grille back in place behind him. On first view, their hunters won't see where they've gone. Turning back proves a bit tricky, but somehow Hicks manages to squeeze himself into the right direction. Now all that's left to do is find the others and haul ass!

"Bishop?"

"Dwayne? Dwayne, is that you?"

Ripley, real close now. He goes faster. A beam of light illuminates the tunnel in front of him. Yes!

"I'm coming! I'm almost there!"

The beam stabs right into his face and blinds him for a moment, before it's being moved away. Two expectant faces beam at him, overjoyed to see him. Two?! Where's Bishop?!

"Oh, thank God-"

"They must have used the air ducts to disappear," they suddenly hear behind them, muffled, but clear enough to be understood. The next second, the grille Hicks put back in place behind him is being kicked away.

"There's no other way out. See? This one's loose…"

"Move!" Hicks mouths silently to the others, speeding up himself to reach the intersection they're in. His legs clear the main tunnel, just as another beam of light is directed down into the darkness, barely missing him. Against the furious beating of his heart, he puts a finger on his lips, looking into the frightened eyes of the girl and Ripley opposite him.

_`Ssssshhhh….'_

"See anything?"

"No, Sir. You want me to go in?"

"Not necessary. They can't be far. We'll deal with them some other way. Give me that!"

Uh-oh… experience tells Hicks what's going to come.

_`Move! Move!'_

Not a sound from his lips, but his scared expression is enough to set them in motion, further down into Hadley's metal intestines in a frantic speed! The next junction, they've got to reach it or –too late! He hears the metallic clang the grenade lands with in the main tunnel – and then the ground buckles beneath him! Reflexively, he slaps his hand over his ears, but the explosion in the confined room almost tears apart his eardrums nevertheless, a feeling as if he'd stuck his head into the turbines of a starting dropship!

Then the fire comes. A faint, orange hue growing brighter faster than his eyes can see, coming their way! Thrusting himself forward, he picks up Newt and sees Ripley jump toward the connecting duct, gives her a violent shove that sends her further in, crash-landing behind her as a high-pitched whine reaches their ears, and a wall of flames and shrapnel races by.

He yells, unaware of it, unaware of the others yelling, too. The heat is insane, burning his back, his skin, his hair, eyebrows, scorching his nostrils, his mouth, windpipe, lungs. He's burning! Reflex makes him throw himself on his back to extinguish the fire, however useless the effort may be in the end. He lets go of Newt, still yelling… and realizes he's able to breathe again. The air's still hot, but not scorching hot. And his back – isn't on fire, actually, although it's throbbing like hell! Slowly, it's beginning to dawn on him - they made it. They… made it. Relaxing, he lets his head sink back onto the hot floor, smelling his own still smouldering hair and the stench of napalm.

_`Dammit,'_ he thinks, hardly believing how close it's been. _`They're serious about shutting us up! Using_ _Napalm grenades in these confined quarters…' _

Which brings him to an important question.

"Newt? Ellen? You two okay?" He turns his head and hears the child's choked voice right beside him.

"My hands hurt."

"Let me see… Ellen?" He feels his way up to Newt's hands.

"I'm fine."

He hears her sitting up, gasping.

"That was close…"

"Too close," he mumbles, sensing some blisters on the child's fingers. "You burnt your fingers a bit, Newt. I know it hurts, but…there's nothing worse, right?"

"No."

Finally, the flashlight comes back on.

"Good." He squints into Ripley's sweat-beaded face, finally able to utter the one question he's been burning to ask since he's seen them. "Where's Bishop?"

She embraces Newt, who flings herself at her adult protector, still trembling with shock, and sadly shakes her head.

"He didn't want to come with us…

"What? Why?" Hicks stares at her, incredulous, not wanting to believe his still ringing ears.

"He said he couldn't be sure he'd be… be loyal to us if we got too close to the Weyland Yutani guards. Didn't know whether he would be able to lie to them. He didn't trust his programming. He said, he couldn't be certain he wouldn't hold us up if they told him to... You know…they built him," she shrugs, matter-of-factly. "I understood his concerns."

She's sounding sad, but not as sad as Hicks is feeling. Sure, Bishop's only been another android for her, a thing. A successor of the one who betrayed her. It's not like she's had him as a constant source of good advice and genuine concern over the course of eight years…

He sighs and places his back against the wall. It's getting cooler quickly and soothes his back.

"You know you're smoking?" She asks, trying to lighten up the bleak mood.

"Huh?"

"Your back."

"Oh…" He turns his neck and smells the sickening stench of burnt fabric. "Yeah… it's just the jacket. I'm fine."

'_Bishop gone… shit!'_ If anyone could have helped them at all in this bleakest of situations, it would have been the resourceful synthetic, but now… what the hell are they supposed to do?

As if she picked up his vibe, Ripley asks him: "What now?"

Hicks exhales noisily, eyes glued on the red-glowing numbers of his chronometer. "We wait."

"For…?"

"They can see us on their trackers, if they care to watch them," he explains. "And they get my PDT-reading. If we move now, they'll know they missed. I assume we all agree we don't need that."

She nods.

"Okay…" she inhales deeply, not really wanting to continue. "Let's wait. But we should try to come up with a plan in the meantime…unless we want to stay here…"

It's an eternity before the three people in the tunnel stir again.

"Still everything quiet," Hicks whispers lowly, checking his chronometer for the umpteenth time since they'd taken refuge in the ventilation system one and a half hours ago. "I guess it's safe to assume they're gone."

"Too bad we don't have the tracker anymore," is Ripley's answer.

He can only hear her, since they've decided to spare the flashlight's batteries for as long as possible, sitting in the darkness for the last ninety minutes and listening in on the surrounding noises intently. But the tense waiting and anticipation of an attack had been wearing them out quickly after the efforts of the last hours and days, and soon it had been impossible to keep their guard up as much as in the beginning.

"Gorman had it. They mowed him down before he could react… and I couldn't wait to pick it up."

Hicks falls silent. Over the course of the last hour, he had been chewing on their hopeless-looking situation again and again and again to come up with a reasonable sounding plan. There is really just one he can think of.

"So, what do you say?"

He hears Ripley's breathing.

"Shall we go back to Operations and find out? Or…"

"Naw…" He shakes his head in the dark. 'I think we should leave Hadley's Hope as fast as possible. We should make our way down to the station's garage, see if we find a working all-terrain vehicle there, and make for the second-nearest atmosphere processor… which – hopefully – won't be alien-infested."

There's no reply. She's probably tasting the implications of his suggestion and searching for possible flaws or alternatives.

"Let's face it, Ellen, if we stay here, we've had it. It's only us three now, we don't have any means to detect those bastards before they can sneak up on us, and even if we did, we're out of ammo. All I've got left are six rounds of 38mm calibre. I doubt that's enough even for just one of them! We've got to leave. Take along as much supplies as we can carry, and disappear. The next processor is about twenty klicks away. Even in this rough terrain, we should be able to make it within a few hours. We pack enough to last us for the next six weeks, go out there and activate the emergency signal. What do you think?"

"Sounds good… but once we activate the signal, won't we call back the Weyland Yutani ship? Because they will pick it up… always provided they won't still be here and be able to locate us even faster."

"I doubt they'll stay here for longer than absolutely necessary," Hicks replies confidently. "They were attacked by an alien just prior to entering Operations, and it sounded as if at least some of them bought it back there. They'll collect their specimen and see that they'll get their asses out of the sling as fast as possible. If anything, I suspect they're gone already."

"Good to hear your optimism's back." It almost sounds as if she's smiling. "You had me worried for a while."

"Well…" he shrugs, not sure of what to say. "I guess the incident with those W.Y. forces made me angry. I don't won't them to get away with what they did here. I want to see Burke getting nailed to the wall for this!"

Now he's sure she's smiling.

"Well, that makes two of us."

The flashlight comes back on and make them squint at each other for a moment.

"Let's get it done! Which way?"

"Medical. Let's get us some medical supplies first."

* * *

'**THE ZOO', Phooka Station**

'_Bright. Too bright! Something's not right. Did they find us?! Did they –'_

Hicks sits up with a start and squints into the light, cupping his eyes with his hands to see. The realization of where he is comes seeping through his profound drowsiness and lets him sink back onto the mattress with a groan.

_`Not again…!_'

The desperation he's feeling each time when he wakes from his dreams or memories to find where he is still hasn't dulled, and he can't help wondering whether he will ever grow accustomed to the thought of what lies before him. Or go nuts. Maybe turning crazy would really feel better. But why is the light on? The sound of the door cycling and opening makes him tilt his head.

"Hello…"

It's the synthetic. At this time of night? A quick look at the glowing numbers behind him tell him that it's almost 3.00 a.m. What is she doing here? Bringing him something, obviously. He watches her approach tensely and put a plastic cup onto the table.

"I couldn't help noticing you were having bad dreams again. I brought you something to help you sleep."

_`Huh?'_ Is he still dreaming?

"But it's-"

"In the middle of the night?" A very, very faint trace of a smile he's never seen on her face. "Yes. I'm on night shift. Your read-outs went all over the scale, and I decided to help you calm down. After what happened this afternoon, we just want you to calm down again. That's all." A small nod towards the cup.

Hicks narrows his eyes.

"What is it? Warm milk?" His sarcasm doesn't catch.

"A very light medication. It's not addictive and will do nothing more than calm you down a bit. Enough to go back to sleep… and even to dream…only something nice this time."

"How do I know it's not something to knock me out, so that you can tie me up and get me up or down to wherever it is you're taking people for your experiments?" His visitor shakes her head in what seems to be slight disappointment.

"Geez… you're still paranoid, huh? Still convinced everyone here's out to get you. Well, you're wrong. I brought you this because I thought it would make you feel better, but I realize there's probably no way of convincing you."

She makes for the door again.

"So, believe whatever you want. Good night."

She leaves and the door cycles behind her. He's alone. Again. Staring at the grey steel of the door, deep in thought, puzzled. What was this all about? Who told her to act as his mother, and why? Curiously, he picks up the cup and eyes the contents, holds his nose over it to smell it. Not too bad…

He hesitates a moment longer, then suddenly makes up his mind and downs the white liquid with two swigs. There really is just one way of finding out, whether she's telling the truth, right? If he wants to know more about the synthetic's intentions, he needs to know whether she's honest with him. And if she is, maybe he'll be able to take it from there…

His gaze going up to the ever-watching surveillance camera on the ceiling, Hicks puts the empty cup back onto the table and braces for what's to come… in addition to the slight taste of cinnamon in his mouth. Is he going to realize it if she doped him? He's feeling drowsy enough already to lie back on the mattress and stare into the darkness of where the ceiling must be. He doesn't want the dream to go on. He doesn't want to think of what happened next. Fumbling around in the dark, he searches for the remote and turns the room into a gigantic aquarium a moment later in attempt to distract himself from the devastating memories the dream stirred up. A shark circles majestically over his head, so realistic, Hicks feels like reaching out and touching it. His eyes stay glued on the sleek predator while he's listening in on the rushing of the waves travelling the shores of his small room above him. It's a soothing noise, comforting – _`Ripley's dead!'_ - hypnotic, pulling him under…_'No…'…_ making him drowsy… and suddenly he doesn't want it anymore, searches for the remote again to turn the illuso off, but he can't find it, can't –

* * *

**Hadley's Hope, Day 12, 0400 Hours**

"Can't we just continue in the tunnels?" Ripley inquires, holding the first aid kit they found in MedLab to her chest and eyeing the huge hole in the ground before them uncomfortably. Hicks, who's standing to her right and is just stretching his neck in an attempt to see something in the darkness below, turns around and shrugs.

"There haven't been any we could have used for a while now. Just the ones leading vertically up."

A taxing glance to the other side of the hole. Three or three and a half meters max., Hicks judges. Probably not too far for Ripley, but too far in any case for little Newt. He'll have to carry her… which will make the jump just a bit more precarious for him, too. But what the heck, it's not like they got a choice, right?

"Let's do it. You first, Ellen."

She casts him another sceptical look, but the expression on her face tells Hicks she knows he's right.

"Come on, you can do this. Piece of cake."

"Let's just hope the ground on the other side is stable," she mutters, more to herself, while she goes back for the approach run. Everything's still quiet… except for the low humming of the generators. No sign of any aliens. "All right…" She gathers speed, tenses… and jumps over the gap securely, landing in a crouch and rolling to reduce the impact on her knees.

"See?" Hicks nods his appreciation. "I knew you're the sporty type." He crouches down next to the girl, who seems scared.

"Please, I can't do this, Mr. Hicks! I –"

"You won't have to, Newt, don't worry. We'll do it together."

A new noise joins the generators, or maybe not so much a noise as a feeling… vibrations he's picking up from the ground through his boots, and through the air, as well. Enough to distract him from the task at hand for a moment. Enough to make him crane back his neck to look at the non-telling ceiling in puzzlement.

"You're feeling this too?" Ripley.

"Uh-huh." A cold chill travels down his spine. He can't tell why, can't define the bad feeling that's suddenly overcome him. The vibrations get stronger. "From above, wouldn't you say?"

"Feels like it…" He can tell she's sharing his feeling when she looks at him now. "What do you think it is?"

"Can't tell… but I don't like it. Let's get going. – Newt?"

He kneels down again, switching security on his 38mm on again and placing in the back of his pants.

"Climb on my back, put your arms around my neck and hold on – real tight! Okay?"

"Okay…"

"You sure about this, Dwayne?" Ripley asks, worried.

He cracks a very false grin.

"What do you think did they made us do in Boot Camp?" He jumps on place, testing the feeling with the child's weight on his back. "No prob. Stand back, Ellen, I'm going to need some space!"

He steps back, feeling his muscles tense… and the vibrations get worse! And now there's definitely a sound accompanying it: a low, powerful grumble he can't place at all. But first things first!

"We're coming!"

He accelerates, feeling Newt's arms tighten around his neck until she's almost choking him, sees the dark, deep hole in front of him… and jumps! The impact of the landing is hard on his knees, and a tell-tailing sound from under his feet causes him to thrust himself forward and fall flat on his stomach as the acid-speckled grating breaks off under his weight. Cursing under his breath, he manages to wriggle himself onto safe ground and feels Newt jumping off his back.

"Damn…"

A brief glance back confirms how close they were to falling down into the hole, but the circumstances don't leave him room to ponder it – the whole station is shaking now, and the growling thunderous! Ripley's face mirrors his own fear as they stare at each other, fearing the worst.

"Ripleyyyy…" Newt makes, pressing her adult protector's hand so hard she gets her attention despite the ear-shattering roar.

"Earthquake?"

_`Meteor', _is Hicks' thought, before something else dawns on him_._ `_Missile!_'

Could it be a missile, launched by the Weyland Yutani ship to make sure there's no one left down here to spill the truth to whoever would listen? The thought's almost too horrible to be true, but then again… they killed Gorman at point-blank range, they were trying to kill him and the others. Of course this is what they'd do to make sure!

"Further down," he barks, involuntarily falling into command tone. "And fast!" Ripley bends down to pick up Newt. "No. I'll take her. Go!"

They run down the corridor, hardly looking left or right for aliens. The growling is ear-shattering now, drowning out all other sounds, the floor under their feet swinging with the vibrations, making it hard to keep their balance. `Must be a meteor,' Hicks thinks, frantically searching for a way down, deeper into Hadley's Hope, and following Ripley when she sees it first. Not even the biggest inter-stellar missile he knows of would be this loud. It's as if heaven's falling down on them, as if all of Acheron was in fact one giant volcano about to erupt.

"Ripleyyyyyyy….."

He sees Newt's mouth open in a terrified scream, but can't hear her anymore.

"Down! Down!"

They run down another flight of stairs, by now underground, when all of a sudden the ground buckles under their feet as if the planet got hit by gigantic hammer! Jumps up half a meter and knocks them off their feet – and then it's Armageddon! An explosion of proportions Hicks has never experienced deafens them in an instant, so loud he can feel the sound race through every fibre of his body – and then the pressure-wave hits the station with a wall of fire and debris, slicing it open like the galaxy's biggest and angriest predator.

Ripping away parts of the roof and allowing the hurricane to wreak havoc inside, collapsing walls like cards and sending everything – furniture, instruments, everything - shooting through the corridors as projectiles in a deadly horizontal rain. Smashing support beams, doors, security glass panes, flattening everything in its way. Down on Sublevel 1, the three remaining survivors struggle to come to their feet again to get away from the raining debris, when suddenly all air is being sucked away through the air-ducts with a high-pitched sound they're unable to hear. Hicks, however, knows what this means, and his heart skips a beat.

"Down!"

Shooting out his hand to push Ripley down who just managed to get back on her feet, he rolls to the side of the corridor, holding his breath, just as the evenly spaced vertical air ducts breathe fountains of fire down into the walkway, the nearest one only ten meters away! It's hell! They've landed themselves in hell, and they're going to be incinerated within the next – it stops. Just when he thinks he can't possibly hold his breath any longer, the fire stops, except for parts of the wall-panels which caught and rain down sparks from the torched circuits in the ceiling. The stench of burnt plastic is overwhelming, dizzying. Probably even toxic, Hicks thinks, looking up to the thick trails of dark grey fumes fogging the corridor and cupping his mouth with his hand.

`_Ripley? Newt?'_

They're on the other side of the walkway, moving, thank God, and as he comes to his feet, staggering into their direction, their sweat-beaded, slightly scorched faces turn around. He motions for them to get up, to hurry, to use this short break to go deeper yet, still hearing nothing but a loud buzz in his ears. Somehow, they comply, even though half-paralysed with shock. Race down the next flight of stairs in the treacherous calm and come to a halt in the next sublevel, turning to him.

"Which way?"

He can hear her again, although very, very distant. Which way? A good question, actually. He doesn't have a clue about their whereabouts.

"Newt? You know where we are?"

Embarrassing having to turn to a child for directions, but right now, they don't have the time for intense contemplating. But the girl, to his intense disappointment, shakes her head.

"Let's just get going." The fire came from behind, so – He motions ahead. "You two okay?"

"Yes." Ripley's eyes scan the walls for any signs of danger as they hasten through the wounded station. "What in God's name was that? An asteroid?"

"Don't know," Hicks replies, not caring to share his `missile-theory' with her just yet, and instead concentrating on the markings on a connecting corridor in an attempt to recall the blueprint he studied in what seems another life. The garage, where's the garage? Just as he feels the taste of memory coming, a chain of three, four fast explosions rattles the station, and the ground beneath their feet starts to quiver. Another hot gust of wind comes their way, and the darkness behind them erupts into menacing orange.

"Come on, hurry up!" He's not even finished when there's another crash, and the ceiling comes down.

Silence. A narcotic silence, thick and liquid. The distant crackling of fire. Groans. Someone crying. And pain. Not crippling, but bad enough to make his head ring. Sweat trickles down his face, searching for a way down his dirt-smeared face. Something pushes awkwardly against his back, some pointy object. It's heavy and pinning him to the ground, almost squashing him. Hicks opens his eyes, but it remains dark. He tries to move – and grunts in surprise at the pain in his head. The thin stream from his brow has reached his lips, and tastes remarkably like iron when he licks it away. Sweat, huh? White supernovas explode in his vision and force him to sink back and catch his breath for the next attempt.

"Ellen? Newt?"

The heavy weight on his back makes breathing – and yelling - almost impossible. And –is it getting hotter?

"Ellen?"

Nothing but moaning and suppressed little sobs, almost too low to hear, answer him. Grunting, Hicks gives it another try to crawl out from under the pile of rubble, inwardly close to panic. Why don't they answer him? His imagination throws up the images of the two, impaled by a piece of torn grating, or half-squashed by a heavy cabinet. His fingers finding a hold between the steel struts on the floor, he drags himself forward, finally feeling the weight on his back slip down inch for inch, until – at last – he's free. Feeling knocked about, but free.

It's pure will-power that makes him stand up and turn around, anxious to see his companions to prove they're not dead. It's not like he can see anything, actually, except for the dark pile of debris he just crawled out from and the orange glow further down the corridor.

"Ellen? Newt?"

Taking a staggering step forward, he grabs for the first thing he can see, a massive steel-strut.

"Come on, answer me!"

_`They can't be dead! Please, don't let them be dead!'_

The strut is too heavy for him to move, so he stops, instead attempting to localise the source of the almost inaudible sobbing. Left… left…kneeling down, Hicks sticks his hand into a gap between some large chunks of debris – and touches hair. A small head.

"Newt?! Newt, it's me! I'm here! I'm getting you out! Are you okay?"

Her silent sobbing is answer enough for him to confirm she's at least conscious. Whether she's caught under anything, he'll have to see. Sticking his other arm into the gap, too, he feels his way down to her shoulders.

"Newt, listen, I need your help for this! Can you grab my arms? Come on, let's try it!"

She moves! God bless, she moves! But why can't he hear Ripley? Why doesn't she answer? Little fingers dig into the fabric of his jacket, and he pulls, ignoring the furious protest of his bruised back.

"That's good, Newt! Almost there! Just hold on, okay?"

He's got to get them out, got to! The thought of losing them both, as well, and to be left alone is… unbearable! Straining once more with all his might, Hicks feels the girl slip out of her prison, and places her gently on her feet in front of him, hardly seeing more than the glittering of her tear-streaked face as he quickly probes her body for broken bones or deep, bleeding wounds. To his relief, he doesn't find any.

"Are you hurting, Newt? Are you-"

"Ripley…!" she sobs, not even now letting go of his sleeves, and realization hits Hicks: He can see her eyes now! Sees them clearly in the flickering light from further back! And it is getting hotter! Wiping sweat and blood away from his eyebrows with his sleeve, he lets go of her, urging her to take a few steps back.

"Wait here, Newt, okay? I'll get Ripley now."

Easier said than done. Despair jumps at him as he eyes the pile of debris in front of him once again, searching for a life-sign from the woman.

"Ellen? Ellen, where are you? Can you hear me?"

_`Please, p-l-e-a-s-e, don't let her be dead!'_

Straining his ears, he listens into the darkness, right under the increasing crackling of the fire, and the sound of something coming down in one of the upper levels. He can't help looking up… and shudders at the sight of the enormous hole in the ceiling, directly above their heads, going through all the levels he can see before they disappear in the darkness.

"Ellen!"

She can't be far from where Newt was, so he tries the same spot gain, going down on all four to squeeze himself into the small gap, knowing full well the danger of doing this. If there's just one loose part, it can make the whole pile collapse- on him! If he could only see just one damned thing! Frantic, but methodically, he probes the floor for any sign of Ripley… and touches something wet and sticky on the floor. _`No, no…!'_ But his nose confirms it nevertheless: it's blood.

"Ellen, answer me! Ripley!"

There's undisguised fear now in his voice as he sticks his arm into another small hole in the rubble – and touches clothes!

"Ripleyyyy!" Newt's voice comes to his ears even through the shock.

Does she move? Does she breathe? Holding his own breath, Hicks waits for the body under his hand to give a life sign – even the weakest one will do! And he gets it – a hardly audible moan from somewhere to his right. He adjusts his position, rounds a large piece of torn ceiling – and finds her, a dark figure on the floor, partly buried under shredded panels and insulation. His heart beating furiously, he kneels down at her side to see what he can do. Again, he finds he can see more than just a few moments earlier – a hasty glance down the corridor confirms that the fire's coming closer.

"Ellen! I'm here, okay? I'm getting you out! Just hold on a little longer. For me, alright?"

She moans again, and – to Hicks endless relief – moves her head just the tiniest bit, her words, however, smashing his hopes in an instant.

"I broke my legs…" Her eyes find his in dawning realization.

For a few endless seconds, he's too stunned for an answer. They stare at each other, knowing the implication of these four words. She's dead. As good as. Even if he does get her out and is able to carry her to wherever, maybe even a working vehicle… with injuries as severe as hers - there's no way she's gonna make it, except if the `real' rescue team – if the USCM really sent one separately – would arrive within the next few hours.

_`No!'_

His mind goes into immediate denial as he claws at the heavy pieces of debris pinning her down in an attempt to free her. He can't lose her, too! And he won't!

"Dwayne, please… you can't help me…"

"Yes, I can!" he barks, furious, slipping his fingers under a tiny crack and straining his muscles to lift the panel off her.

"Just.. go… and take care of Newt…"

"Shut up, Ellen!"

He comes to his feet, feeling the weight shift just the slightest bit under his grasp.

_`Come on, come on, COME ON!'_

An inch… another half an inch –his shoulders and arms trembling with effort – and then Newt's scream!

"They're coming!"

Snapping up his head, he expects to see the Weyland Yutani guards running towards them – but it's worse: it's the aliens! Two of them in close order, two black shapes glistening in the fire behind them, jumping along the ceiling at frantic speed. No time to think. He drops the debris and brings up his pistol in one fast move, firing three shots in fast consecution at the approaching creatures, and then they're above his head, moving so fast, he feels a rush of air, and he fires once more, knowing how futile his attempt of stopping them will be – but the aliens don't attack. Without even bothering to look at them, they disappear into a hole in the ceiling, leaving him to gape at the void they've left behind, his hammering heart almost bursting out of his chest, unable to move.

Until another heavy explosion not too far off throws him off-balance! The orange glow erupts into bright yellow flames and brings with it the stench of burning insulation and plastic… and excruciating heat! Time's running out fast.. He kneels down again, ready for another go, desperately alternating pushing the piece of wreckage and trying to lift it.

"Fuck it!"

He throws his entire weight, every fibre of his body strained in the effort, his heart pumping furiously. Feels the tiniest of movement, hears Ripley moan – and then momentum's gone again, and he sinks back on his knees, exhausted, breath coming in deep, raspy draws – making him break into a hard cough as his lungs fill with smoke and fumes.

"Dwayne, you must leave! Now!" Sweat is running all over Ripley's pain-contorted face, but her voice is still firm, her tone no-nonsense. "You can't help me! Or… maybe you can…"

It takes a lot of out of her to raise her head to meet his shocked gaze. He knows exactly what she wants. After all, he'd promised it on their first day in this hellhole. But he's still denying the facts, firmly shaking his head no as he jumps up to look at the girl.

"Newt?" He has to almost scream it over the growing noise of the inferno and another distant explosion. "Go to the nearest duct that's too small for the aliens and stay there. Right now!"

"But Ripley-!"

"We'll be with you in a moment, but I first have to get her out. Now move!" He still sees profound concern and doubt in her expression, but she does as he told her and disappears into the twilight.

"What are you doing?"

"What I said: Getting you out!"

He runs up to the nearest door he can see and shoves it open manually, since there's no more power to work the mechanism. There must be something down here he can use! A cutting torch, or… But the room's almost empty, except for some laboratory equipment. Dishes, empty stasis cylinders, boxes of unused working clothes… Cursing under his breath, he storms out, towards the next door. Throws his weight against it to push it open. Sweats runs into his eyes, stings. Jesus, it's getting hot! A frantic look back, another cough attack. A wall of flames is coming their way – fast!

"Dwayne!"

He almost falls into the next room, desperate enough to use whatever he can find to wrench Ripley free – but there's nothing! As far as he can see in the flickering twilight, he's standing in an empty room – empty except for a few bare shelves. Next! The next room! He bursts out into the corridor – and hears Ripley cough. Sees the flames approach with unreal speed. There's no time…! Groaning, he runs back to her, hardly able to breath in the thick, stinking fumes and immense heat. His eyes burn and water, blurring his vision. No time!

"I'm sorry, Ellen," he mutters, grabbing her arms. No more time for elegant solutions. He pulls, drawing an anguished scream from her. Throws himself back with all his might, fingers slipping on her skin.

_She. Doesn't. MOVE_!

He tries again, angry at himself, furious, swearing, yelling.

"Come on, dammit!" – and collapses down coughing.

"No more… Dwayne…" He can hardly hear her over the roar of the fire anymore. "Please… go."

_`No…'_

"And please.. please don't let me burn…!"

He swallows, but can't turn his eyes from her piercing stare. She's pleading now, reminding him of his promise. His promise… oh God, no…! He can't do this!

"Ellen-"

"Do it, please! Don't let me burn."

Twenty meters behind them, another part of the ceiling comes down with an ear-splitting crash, forming a black cloud of smoke in the corridor that makes them both choke.

"Do it! Do it, Dwayne! Please!"

Smoke and his blurred vision make it almost impossible for Hicks to see Ripley's face anymore. But somehow, he doesn't know how, the heavy weight of the pistol's suddenly in his hand, still everything inside him cringes and struggles against what he's about to do. But he's got to leave; he's got to – the fire's almost upon them! Yet he can't.

"Jesus, Ellen-"

"Take care of Newt for me," she manages between coughs, not able to lift her head anymore. "Promise me this. Promise me to do everything you can to…" She can't catch her breath anymore. "Do it…", she gasps. "Do it and go."

The air id too hot to breathe now, searing his eyes. If he stays any longer, he'll get cremated himself. And what is the point in that… despite ending it all and sparing himself from whatever fate has still in store for him? But no… no, he can do this… yet!

_`Move it,_ _soldier!_'

He squeezes Ripley's hand in affection, inwardly separating himself from all the emotions the action he'll have to take now stirs up, throwing them into a vault for later.

_`Sometimes, to kill someone is an act of mercy,_" a voice echoes through his head as he places the muzzle of the 38 against her head, feeling as if someone were moving his hand by remote control. He recognizes it as that of Master Sergeant Delancey, his drill instructor at New Brisbane.

`_To kill a friend in order to save him from a worse fate, or to spare him unnecessary pain, may very well be the hardest task you'll ever have to fulfil. It's probably the worst thing to be asked for. But when the time arrives where you all will be faced with making that decision, you've got to forget about yourself. You've got to focus on what you're sparing this person from, not on what you'll be doing to him. It will take a lot of courage and strength to do this, but it's the ultimate act of mercy.'_

Flames. Fire and smoke. Everywhere. Ripley convulses under his hand, unable to breathe the searing air anymore.

"I'm sorry, Ellen…" He shuts his eyes, holds on to her hand… and squeezes the trigger.

Fire. The roar of the flames drowning out the world, encompassing him as he stumbles and falls to his knees, burning his hand on the hot grating as he lands. Picks himself up.

"Newt! Newt, where are you?"

He means to shout it, but hardly manages a faint wheeze before another violent cough attack almost makes him collapse again. Too long, he waited for too long, and now he's gonna buy it!

"Newt!"

_`Run, dammit! Move your sorry ass,_ _you pussy! Failure's not an option, you hear me?'_ Delancy's voice again, pushing him further. _`Quit whining! I'm going to get medieval on everybody's ass who thinks about giving up._ _Now MOVE IT!'_

He stumbles forward, coughing, out of air and nauseated by the thick stench of toxic fumes, not seeing a damned thing in the smoke.

"Where are you?"

"Hicks! Hicks, I'm here! I'm here!"

Her frightened voice is like a beacon, leading him to a duct that's so narrow he knows he won't fit. He squeezes himself in anyway, barely clearing the opening, and hears her moving in front of him. The next second, he's sliding down headlong through the darkness, downward, downward – and gets spat into a crammed little room, landing on the floor with a heavy thud. Too stunned to move, he waits to catch his breath again – and hears the girl's voice right in front of him.

"Where's Ripley? Where's-"

"Newt-" He coughs again, his lungs burning.

"Where is she? Where is she? Ripley?!" She runs towards the shaft entrance, sticks her head in. "Ripley?! "Ripley?!"

Somehow, he doesn't know how, Hicks manages to pick himself up, at least to his knees.

"Ripley's not coming, honey…." His still watering eyes show him nothing more but a blurry image of her, but he can hear her shocked silence all too well. "She… I couldn't get her out…"

"No…" Her voice has always been that of the small child she still is, but now she sounds even smaller. "No…. Ripley…you promised! You said you'd-"

"I tried it, Newt. I did what I could. I-"

"No! No! No! You promised! You promised! Where is she?!"

Little fists pound against his chest. He doesn't make any effort at stopping her.

"I'm sorry, Newt… I'm so sorry…"

"I hate you!" Then nothing more but painful, uncontrolled sobs…


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"I heard there were some problems today concerning our marine," Darwin asks in a casual voice, without looking at me. "Alexander told me he had a panic attack?"

"Well, yes." I wonder how her mind still has the capacity to concern itself with this topic while she's in the middle of removing the alien's chitinous dome that protects its brain. She's so skilled with the instruments, she doesn't even have to concentrate on what she's doing. It's a sight to behold.

"That stupid girl from Hikahi's staff put him on a VR processor. You know, those which are powered by the individual's imagination. Apparently, his subconscious took control somewhere during the session, and he got lost in a nightmare vision that seemed perfectly real to him. He even continued to fight us long after we had ripped the visor from his eyes. He was totally gone."

"Hmm…" Darwin purses her lips and lays the laser-saw down onto the tray. The cut around the alien's head is complete, and she slips out of the protective gloves and turns to the console to direct another instrument to remove the head plate. "What's his status now?"

"We had to sedate him. But it's already starting to wear off. I've been in his room to give him some more, since he was continuing to have severe nightmares, and he was coherent. I'm positive that the shock wasn't too severe. Last thing I heard, he was sleeping again."

"Good." She's done situating the pliers at four different points of the alien's head, and presses a button. The plate comes away with a wet sound. Small geysers of acid shoot up into the air from the huge wound, but the base Darwin developed within just 24 hours after knowing the ingredients of the molecular acid rains down from the Sprinklers in the room and neutralize it before it can cause any damage. The xenomorph shrieks and hisses, but it's obvious that its strength is beginning to fail it. If we continue to abuse it like this, it will die in the near future. Darwin won't mind. She already told us during our morning meeting that the data the probes collected on their journeys through its body will provide us with everything we dreamt of.

We're going to get all the information we need to go ahead with the project from just one specimen, and even if we didn't, by tomorrow evening we are going to have four new ones, so the loss won't be too great. That's a price she's happily willing to pay. The other two specimen we had went to Kurtz, who's getting started on his Behavioural' approach. I doubt that these things will take any conditioning, but maybe I will stand to be surprised. In any case, it's breathtaking to witness how fast everything is happening now. Just this morning I transferred everything I had to Rogue, and not even a day later I'm boasting of information. But I need to be careful now. I can't have Darwin stumble over me during the downloading again. As if she could read my thoughts, she's staring at me.

"Want to come with me and have a first-hand look?" A brief nod towards the alien.

"You don't wanna do it from here?"

"It can't do anything. The acid's neutralized, the bleeding has stopped… there's no reason why we shouldn't do it directly. I still prefer it to this." She rolls back with her chair and gets up. I shrug.

"Okay."

"Oh, just one more thing before we proceed…" she turns around in the door, facing me with those piercing eyes. "I don't want Keisha to be able to mess up our marine again. See to it that her security status will be revoked. I don't want her to have access to the Zoo' anymore."

"Who is going to continue the rehabilitation sessions with him?" I ask. "Because he still needs them. And Alexander even suggested after that scene today, that some psychological counselling might also be called for. We should think about who-"

"You will." She doesn't smile, she doesn't wink at me – she's dead serious. But she can't be!

"Oh, please," I snort, trying to let her hear how ridiculous I find her suggestion. "Me? His shrink? Darwin, you can't be-"

"Yes, I _am_ serious. We remove that Keisha-person, which will leave him without anyone to confide in. He'll need someone to replace her – and you will be available. Perfect!"

I toss my hand up in desperation and follow her down the corridor, since she left me standing.

"Come on, I'm not a psychiatrist! I don't even understand normal humans!"

"Talk to Alexander," is her valuable advice. "And download the files. You've got the capacity to learn everything a psychiatrist needs to know in a matter of five minutes or less. Where's the problem?"

_Where's the problem? Hello?' _

"The problem is that I'm not even human! I don't get many things you people consider perfectly normal. How should I be able to cure him of his trauma?" The door starts to close, and I hop into the room holding the strapped alien behind her.

"You don't have to cure' him," she tells me, distracted, since she's already standing at the table, peering down at the alien's open brain. "You just have to win his trust. And you will start tomorrow. End of discussion." I bite my tongue, burning with frustration. "So come and help me here, will you?"

----------------

Down at the Zoo, inhabitant no. 230 continues to toss and turn around on his bed, unable to wake from the nightmares that make him soak the sheets with sweat. The real nightmares. Memories that are going to haunt him for the rest of his life, however short it's going to be. Just when he's relived one awful event and hopes to float to the surface of the dream, medication kicks in and pulls him under again, serving him nightmare after nightmare. The long night continues…

------------------

"No, Newt. No way!" Hicks hates having to resort to this hard tone, but this is too important. He demonstrates his determination by eye-contact despite her angry, accusing and stubborn stare. "You're not going alone. Get it out of your head!"

"I know where everything is. You don't." Her bullheadedness is astounding, given that he's just dealing with a six year old girl. "I did it before. Almost every day." She clutches the stained plaid to her body, her fingers working in the fabric in barely controlled anger. Hicks exhales. Man, he doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to fight with the girl. She's been through so much already. Hell_, he's_ been through more than he ever thought he could take! They're both in strung-out shape, their prospects looking grim, so why should they – on top of all the rotten things that are going on around them – fight with each other? He makes an effort at returning to a calmer, more sensible tone.

"Newt –" She is trying to cut him off, but he won't have that now and holds up his hand, lets her see the intensity in his eyes – and she stops. He sits back. "Listen. I told you what happened. Don't you think it was hard for me? Don't you think I wish there had been some other way? It was the last thing I wanted to do, Rebecca. And I almost couldn't." He changes his position, leans a little more towards her, his face a display of all the sorrow and horror they have endured together. He lets it out, lets it show in an attempt to reach her after two days of the hateful glares she's given him. Another heavy breath. "But it was a promise I gave to Ripley right on the first day when we stranded here." He thinks he sees something in her eyes, like... a little flickering? Is she doubtful?

"A promise?" She barely whispers the words, but they still sound uncertain. She liked him before, yes. She even trusted him. So why is it that he –

"Yes. I promised Ripley that – if it came to the worst – I would kill her rather than let the aliens get her, or let something horrible happen to her. She wanted it, Newt. You were already in the tunnel when she asked me to keep my promise." He shakes his head slightly, no longer seeing Newt but Ripley's blood-streaked face in front of his inner eyes, biting his lip when the pain of the memory hits him again. He has been trying to come to grips with his action for every minute of the past two days, but to no avail. Rationally, he knows he's done the right thing. But still... He returns his attention back to the child, and to his endless relief, he finds a reaction to his words on her face. Her features have finally softened, and while this makes room for the sorrow and despair she's feeling, it's definitely better than the hateful expression he's been getting from her before.

"But why didn't you save her?" Her voice sounds very small and thin, as if she were about to cry again. It sends a sharp pang of guilt down his conscience. He remembers he told her all of this before. Repeatedly. But she didn't listen to him. His words didn't reach her then as they do now. He can see their effect and is relieved.

"I tried to, Newt. Believe me, if there had been a way of reversing our positions, I would have done it. But I couldn't get her out. And I couldn't lift the debris off her – it was too heavy. But I tried, Newt. I did everything I could to save her." Telling it to himself aloud feels good. It sounds more real than just thinking the words. "And then the fire was upon us and. there was just no more time. I had to do something. I could have stayed with her, and we would both be dead now. You would have been alone again. I didn't want that. And Ripley didn't want that either. She begged me to look out for you." He sees her lower lip quiver, and his voice becomes even softer. "And she begged me to..." the word feels almost to big to handle – "-to kill her before the fire reached us. God, I didn't wanna do it, Newt, I didn't. But it was better for her that way … You understand that, right? I know you do. " Now she is crying, wordlessly nodding her head. He opens his arms, offering comfort, and finally, after an eternal 48 hours, the child flings herself against his chest, little arms are being clutched around him, and her tear-streaked face lands on his shoulder, the little body wrecked by spasms. " Sssshhh... it's okay. Just let it out. Let it all come out..."

He doesn't know for how long he's holding her, stroking her hair and murmuring reassuring words he doesn't believe in himself, whispering about how things will get better and they'll get away from this place, and finding to his surprise that some his words even have a soothing effect on himself. It feels good to be there, to be able to comfort the child and – in reverse – himself, too. This is better than sitting around here in the semi-darkness of the hideout, doing nothing but brooding and replaying the violent deaths of his comrades in his mind again and again and again. He has a task to fulfil. He has to be strong enough for the both of them. And – with a little luck – they will get out of here. Somehow. The sarcastic smile that seems to belong to this hopelessly optimistic thought is blocked by Newt's voice as she turns her head at his shoulder just the slightest bit to ask: "Will they come and help us?"

Her way of asking _Is there any hope left? Is there a reason for us to stay_ _alive?'_ His first reflex is to flat-out lie and tell her of course everything would turn for the better. The easiest way. But not the honest way. Surely the Corps will send someone to find out what had happened to it's outfit... right? The Weyland Yutani force couldn't have been the rescue team? There has to be a real one on the way. But... are they going to come down to the surface? Or will the data they'll get from Sulaco's computers give them sufficient answer and prevent them from exploring this hellhole in the middle of stellar nowhere? He dare not say. And so he's meeting her questioning glance with one of absolute honesty which – he hopes – won't be too much for the child to handle.

"I'm counting on it, Newt. But... I don't know whether they will come down here. It would be best if we made our way to one of those atmosphere processors and activate the emergency signal. That way they'll know that someone's still alive, and they will come looking. If we stay here..." he shakes his head "... it won't help us." _Yeah, sure, man, no sweat. Just walk around through alien-infested territory for the next 30 miles to the next processor, because the closest one is their hive._ _Great idea, Hicks!'_ Against Hudson's voice in his head he adds: "I'm going to find a way for us to get there, but first we'll have to find some food... and water." His way of silently reminding her that she's got a task to fulfil as much as he does. She knows the way, as she constantly keeps reminding him. Hicks still doesn't like the thought of her actually accompanying him on this trip, of putting her into lethal danger, but he realizes that he doesn't really have a choice: Four eyes will detect danger faster than two, and also four hands are able to carry more than if he went alone. However little she can carry, it will at least be a day's ration for each of them... which could very well mean the difference between life and death. He detects another question in her eyes. "Yeah?"

"Water? But there's water everywhere."

He nods. There's barely been a way of missing it, the way it has been dripping into their temporary shelter for the last two days. The whole structure of the station has been shredded to pieces and become a playground for the various elements.

"Yeah, but it might not be okay for drinking, Newt. It could be contaminated.' He sees her uncomprehending look and curses silently. _Man,_ _you're talking to a child, not a terraformer! Watch your language!'_ "Sorry. What I meant is that there could be... stuff in there that could make us sick." _Like radiation... which will kill us either way sooner or later, whether we drink it or not.'_ But maybe, just maybe, the explosion spared the vital parts of the station... like the reactor. Maybe there's no fallout whatsoever, and they are missing the easiest opportunity of getting water. _Do you still believe_ _in Santa Claus, Hicks?'_ Hudson's voice again, bitterly sarcastic. _Get real, soldier. You know what the_ _chances are. Let's play it as safe as possible. Plan. You're responsible for the girl, so act responsible!'_ He doesn't think his explanation was sufficient and halfway waits for another question like Like what?', but to his surprise, Newt gives him a little nod. Whether she understands or just doesn't want to proceed with questioning him he doesn't know, but he's thankful for it. There are more urgent things on his mind than giving a brief summary to a six-year old about nuclear waste and it's effect on human beings. And – to be honest – he's got a feeling Newt's already beginning to trust him again. The way she's looking at him as she lets go of him now, seemingly having regained her composure and concentrating on the task at hand – a task he, an adult has laid on her – tells him that things have taken a turn for the better. "So, what do you say, Newt?"

-----------------------

Half an hour later, 200 meters away from their hideout and relative safety, there's no further delaying it.

"Okay, this is what we'll do: We sneak up silently to the storage door over there. You go in and pack whatever you can reach as fast as possible. I'll watch for them outside. When you're ready, you show yourself briefly at the door, but you don't call me. I take the bag, and we both disappear in this duct again." Hicks' eyes wander from the opening waiting for them, approximately 20 yards ahead, to his young partner in crime, lying right beside him in this narrow tunnel. Sees the excitement on the girl's face and sighs inwardly. It's definitely not fear he's seeing ... it's more as if she's actually looking forward to her dangerous mission. Right, she has been doing this kind of thing almost on a daily basis while his platoon was still sound asleep in their cryo-chambers. She's a pro, and she knows it. She's also a survivor. In the course of seven or eight weeks she did not only outlast the 147 of Acheron's colonists, but a platoon of Colonial Marines and a civilian. After her chances to leave this dreadful place had been looking good for a short while, they are back in the pits now... but it's not hopeless... right? He'll do everything in his power to ensure they'll make it through this nightmare. A cynical voice in the back of his head opens its mouth to vent protest, but he strangles the life out of it. He doesn't intend to die on fuckin' LV-426! He is going to live through this, and be it only some day to have a chance to get this asshole Burke into his hands again! To see the company rep' s face when he finally has to face the consequences of his evil doings! It's a purpose... right? Even if its fulfilment appears unrealistic at best.

But his thoughts are straying from their current task. Right now he can't afford this. There will be enough time for him to further evaluate their chances when they are back in their crammed little niche that they are calling a home' these days. He feels that little tale-tell-tale tingle on the back of his neck and shifts his gaze to the child, finding that she's still watching him, eagerly waiting for his commands.

"Okay, Newt..." Damn, he doesn't want do this... He inhales deeply, filling his lungs with oxygen. 'Ready?'

"Aye-firmative." Newt's tone leaves little place for interpretation – she's actually looking forward to showing her adult guardian what she's capable of. Looks as if she prefers danger to permanent boredom. _Let's hope you're right, girl,'_ Hicks thinks grimly and places his fingers against he already loosened grille, one last time straining his ears and listening for the slightest hint of danger in the semi-darkness before them. Everything seems so quiet, deserted... but if the past weeks taught him one thing, it's how suddenly and out of nowhere these monsters can appear. Over him. Under him. Behind him. If he lets his guard down for just a moment, they'll pay for it. The grating's almost out when he remembers something. Something important. He needs to hear it from her.

"Newt?"

"What?" Damned if she doesn't sound impatient, almost annoyed over this new delay.

"If you see or hear any of them, or have just the slightest feeling that one of those things is near – you leave. As fast as possible. You get back to safety, okay? You don't stop for anything, and you don't wait for me. You're faster in these ducts, and if anything goes wrong, I'll cover your back and follow you. But you don't wait. Are we clear about this?" Hicks knows he's sounding rough. Whatever. This is too important. She's got to understand this. Has to understand he means it exactly as he says. It's enough to think of that he's responsible for the deaths of Vasquez and Hudson - he doesn't want to be guilty of her death, too. He couldn't bear it! It's bad enough he had to take her with him, but her knowledge of this labyrinth is essential for their survival, and they will have to starve if this desperate venture fails. There is no alternative. While he can't get around doing this without her, there are at least some ways of limiting the risks. She nods, but it's not enough for Hicks. He needs to hear it from her.. "I mean it, Newt. You leave."

"Yes, Sir!" It's an angry, bullheaded hiss which almost makes him smile despite the tension inside of him. Almost.

"Good. So..." His fingers touch the steel bars, and he feels the gentle humming of the last working generators of Hadley's Hope through the material. He closes his eyes. Opens them, concern replaced by a determined look. This is the moment to let go of all his doubts and concerns, to be ready just for this moment. "Let's do it."

He pulls, and the little noise with which the grille comes loose explodes in his ears, treacherously loud. Another explosion of sound when he puts it down. Wait... wait... wait. He becomes all ears again, listening, trying to sense into the thick blackness, to feel what lies behind it, but the loudest thing in his surrounding seems to be his own heartbeat, thundering in his head like crazy. A flood of adrenaline rushes through his body. Game time... He slides out of the opening, fast and soundless. Comes to a stand in the flickering twilight. Leaden silence greets him, interrupted only by short bursts of crackling and humming of the defective neon light over his head. Under it lies the heavy humming of the emergency power generators deep down within the station's intestines.

Two quick glances – left, right. Hicks finds himself holding his breath, forces himself to take in air. The flickering light grants him a view of about 20 meters down the corridor before blackness claims it again, but his instincts tell him they are still alone. He can usually rely on his inner voices. Maybe they'll be lucky. Maybe this will go smoothly and they won't even meet one of these ugly bastards. Taking another step, Hicks listens for what he feels is an eternity before he turns around and gestures Newt to follow him, but thinks better of it in an instant and tells her with another movement to stop and wait, when he sees the corridor he's in ending in a big room, some kind of cantina with a long bar and a mirror wall behind it. Nothing moves, but he wants to be on the safest side possible.

One step towards the room, another one, the 38 weighing heavy in his hands in front of his body at the end of his outstretched arms. A thorough look. Strangely enough the mirror wall is intact with the exception of a ragged hole where a few shards have fallen out. A bullet hole, by the looks of it. The only one though... at least the only one that hit the mirrors – the rest of the room looks as if it's seen the worst bar brawl in this part of the galaxy: Tables and chairs are lying on the ground in a mess, some missing their legs or broken despite the fact they're made of metal. Shards from broken glasses and bottles sparkle in the flickering cold neon light. The lid of a hatch hangs from the ceiling, only held by a few cables, torn from the ventilation shaft behind it by raw power, a dark smear discolouring the ground beneath it. Hick's stomach clenches into a tight knot. It's all too obvious what happened here, the sight leaves no place for interpretations. Panic, destruction and death hit this place, and he doesn't need to see any corpses to understand the dynamics of what turned the cantina into a slaughterhouse.

His eyes wander over the scenery for one last time, taking in what he thinks might be important, before he finally turns around to focus on the room to his right, the storage room. He feels Newt's impatient look, but ignores it as for the time being as he steps up to look through the break-proof glass. Some kind of observation room, a smaller version of Operations above, as it's crammed to the ceiling with technology. And damn, it appears to be still working! A friendly green light at the door tells him that this part of the station still has power, and as he takes another step towards the door, its wings part with the pneumatic hiss he has come to know as normal. A hurried sweep confirms to him that the room is as empty as it first appeared. No ugly bugs hiding in there; and in this knowledge he swallows his excitement over the discovery to motion Newt into the corridor. Time to get moving! He'll be able to examine his discovery while the girl collects their treasure. No need to let her wait any longer – the place appears to be dead and deserted enough. Seconds later she's at his side, eager to fulfil her mission. Together they enter the storage room - and stare in awe at the treasure on the cabinets and racks. Everything they need, and more than they can carry. Hicks feels a huge load dropping off his back. If they do this whole thing smartly, they at least won't have to starve. Here is enough food to give them time enough to consider their options carefully. He won't have to make any snap decisions.

Satisfied, he gives the girl a little approving nod, and – while she starts filling their plastic bag, he pulls over a heavy canister from the side and places it in the doorway, blocking the beam of infrared light before he helps her for a minute by taking cans and bottles from the upper racks she can't reach and putting them into the bag, until he is certain that there is enough heavy stuff in there, and he leaves it to her to rummage through the rest of the cabinets in search for other things while he steps out into the corridor again, carefully looking around. No change here. Straining as much as he can, he can't make anything out except for the noises Newt is making behind him and the defect neon lamp over his head. Good. _Let's see what we got here.'_

He touches the switch, and again the doors opens for him, a ghostly blue-white light from the monitors greeting him. Another quick glance back. Everything's still quiet. However, he needs something to block this door, too. He's got to be able to hear whatever's happening in the corridor. Carefully examining the room from where he's standing, he finally spots a metal basket close by and places it in the middle of the infrared signal, causing the door to stay open, even though he can hear the protesting whine of the hydraulic. A barely audible electrical humming envelops him as he steps up to take his quick survey through this unexpected wonderland. How can it be this room still has power? His glance glides over the dozens of monitors in an attempt to take in as much as possible in the few moments he's granted himself for this task. Finds messed-up offices, equipment storage facilities, maintenance rooms, labs... most of them more or less in a state of destruction ranging from disarray to complete disaster, either caused by fire, the aliens or the elements, where the ceiling has been ripped off by the explosions. Another camera shows the remains of Hadley's Hope from - what it looks like – the landing field.

"God..." Nausea. He sucks in air, cursing under his breath, not believing his eyes. Even if it's just a small, black and white monitor he's looking at, with grainy transmission made worse by the continuous rain – it's bad. Worse than bad. Only now, looking at the deep crater of what appears to have been the landing field and the southern part of the colony, does he begin to grasp the full scope of the catastrophe they witnessed. And survived, miraculously. His mind still fights the images his eyes are feeding it, the still raging fires and wreckage, strewn over what appears to be half of the planet. _Must have been a missile! They dropped a missile on us to shut us up!'_ And then he sees it, and his sense of reality leaves him: A titanic, ragged silhouette sticking out from the crater like a gigantic splinter, rising up towards the stormy sky like a monument to their failure at least eighty meters high. Smoke rises from below, thick black clouds blocking his view every few seconds, but he knows what this is. What this means. All of a sudden he feels the desire to sit down, hunch into a corner and... cry. All his hope... shattered, because what the monitor shows him with mechanical cruelty are ... the remains of the Sulaco.

Somehow he has dreaded this, the thought has clearly passed through his mind before more than once, but he's never dared to seriously pursue it. But now that he sees it with his own very eyes... the wreckage covering the ground for as far as the camera range can handle... another big piece lying closer to the atmosphere processor, wild, uncontrolled fires ranging in it's interior... the forest of antennae telling him he's looking at the ship's bow. Dizziness overcomes him, turns the world upside down and lets him grasp for the console for stability, his mind reeling with the consequences of his discovery. No Sulaco means – no help from the outside. No one will come looking for them, even if they did send a ship this way. Just one look via satellite onto the wreckage of the ship and station will tell them more than enough. They'll never expect survivors down here. And with the possible radiation in the atmosphere, they won't risk more than necessary by coming down.

They'll have to make it to the other atmosphere processor somehow! Provided there is even an intact vehicle left after the catastrophe which they could use. Pack food for at least one months and go out there… into the radiation… The radiation... yeah. This is weird in fact. How come they are still alive? Sulaco has been nuclear-driven, so why haven't they blown up in a bright white mushroom cloud? And – even more important, more incomprehensible to him – what caused the titanic warship to fall out of the sky like that? Could it have been the doing of Burke's friends? Did they tamper with the ship's self-destruct system? But any such attempt would have been reported to Gateway by the onboard computer in an instant and unveil what happened down here. This couldn't have been in the Company's interest. But what does he care? Why's he even thinking about it? The answer to all of these questions is irrelevant: _They. Are. Fucked._ It's a hard fact to swallow.

Hicks keeps starring at the two-dimensional image, his mind stubbornly refusing acceptance of the full scope of the catastrophe that's hit them. There will be no help. No. Help. Not tomorrow, not the day after tomorrow, not in seventeen days. They'll have to do this all by themselves. Man, it would certainly be easier to end it all right now. To take the 38 and put a bullet through their heads right now. A clean death, quick and painless. Not what will await them once the aliens get a hold of them...So what – his head snaps up, guilt flooding his conscience in a rush. For a moment, he completely forgot his whereabouts and the cause of their being here, had been sucked into the enormity of his discovery. Anything different? Didn't he hear something?... Does it matter?

His heartbeat performs a catapult start. Holding his breath, he tries to pierce the heavy silence with his senses. Gentle humming... the instruments around him. The still whining drive of the door. Rustling from the storage room, where Newt is still busy collecting their treasure. Hicks narrows is eyes, focusing on the twilight behind the security glass. Nothing. Zip. Some more endless, breathless seconds pass, and when everything stays quiet, he once again switches his attention toward the monitors, some of which appear to be broken. Or rather the outside cameras which are supposed to be feeding their images into them. The monitors themselves seem okay. Another black and white image makes his heart race even more: there's a heavy, all-terrain vehicle with man-high wheels, especially engineered for the conditions on this wild planet – and it looks intact!

Could this already be the solution to their problems? But still… even if they took as much with them as they could possibly carry and load it onto the truck... how long would they last in these harsh conditions? In the icy cold, the ever-blowing storm... and the never-ending rain... plus there is this nasty voice in the back of his mind again telling him that – even if a miracle has somehow spared them from the thermonuclear explosion which should have rightfully ended their lives – there has to be radiation in the atmosphere. Logic dictates this. Even if Sulaco did not vanish in a brilliant white flash, the explosion ripped it to pieces, which again shredded Hadley's Hope beyond recognition. No way the reactor can still be intact. Even being the optimist he's infamous for... he's got to acknowledge this fact. There's definitely got to be some kind of fallout, probably even enough to poison the atmosphere to a point where it would be suicide to drink any of the falling rain. So, once their precious few supplies will be gone - and he doesn't think of making that way between the storage and the garage more than once- there are limits to his madness –they are going to die of thirst rather than of hunger. ctually, who knows whether anyone will come looking for them, really. All they will have once they're out there is ...hope. A hunch that someone will come. Pretty lame, come to think of it. No, more than that: crazy!

Hicks moves closer, and his eyes become narrow slits in an attempt to read the small mark in the top right corner of the picture, which could give him a clue as to where to find the truck. He'll definitely have to check on that. Alone. Chewing on his lower lip, Hicks continues to contemplate their messed-up situation. Just why is it that he refuses to give up just yet, because – because – he jerks, his head snapping up. Something has moved, he's sure this time! Something's changed, but he can't put his finger on it while he's staring through the window into the corridor, checking the ceiling, the entrance to the bar, the mirror wall... Nothing except – a shadow. Darker and deeper than it's surroundings. Moving slowly, gracefully around in the darkness, where the flickering neon light can't reach it. Hicks freezes. Ice water in his veins, his heartbeat like a drum roll for what is about to happen next. Has to happen next. He tries to move, but finds he can't. Can't do anything but stand there, mesmerized, and stare at the dark, deadly silhouette, which is taking its time examining a black hole in the wall where the grate is missing. Curiously, as if thinking that there's got to be something foul here... _Behind us! It's behind us!'_

It seems to take him forever to turn his head, to transfer his will to his nerves and get his body to react against the weakness he's suddenly feeling. Slowly, carefully, certain the alien will see him as soon as he moves, seeing every tiny detail as if someone put a magnifying glass in front of his eyes – every single little lamp of the instruments... the bolts on the floor, holding the grates in place... the nervously flickering light from the corridor... and its metallic reflection on the grotesque nightmare out there eyeing their escape route. The dull vibration of the emergency generators together with the low whining of the door's motor are the only noises in an otherwise perfect, now almost expectant silence.

The alien's silhouette becomes one with the wall in the twilight, dissolves between the pipes and metal structure, becomes virtually invisible until it moves again, slowly bowing its head to inspect something on the floor, Hicks' curses silently. The grate... he put it there after he left the duct. A wave of fear washes over him. Swallowing, he watches helplessly. Feels as if he could hear the beast's thoughts over something like a telepathic connection. _Something wrong here? This part belongs into the duct? Someone must have removed it? You're right. You're damned right, bastard!'_

Now it tilts its big head, as if listening into the darkness. Listening for any unusual noises. Noises that don't fit the situation. That sound like they belong to... something living... Does it hear his thunderous heartbeat? The rushing blood pumping through his body? Does it smell his fear from where it's standing, 15 meters away? Does it even see him and just pretends not to, playing with him like a cat with a bird, wandering by pretending not to have noticed its prey, not to be interested, only to strike at it when the bird feels safe again? Or does it even sense' him through some utterly alien senses he can't even begin to comprehend, although he gives it his best at becoming one with the twilight? The whining of the door... does it understand that this is not a normal' noise, that there has to be someone to cause it? A living, breathing thing? Prey? Brief flashes race through his brain, his whole entire being screaming, begging him to run. He fights the reflex, fights it with all his might. _Don't move_. _Don't even blink!'_

The creature continues to stand there like a silent, giant praying mantis, only waiting to strike; a bizarre, yet somehow beautiful statue in the blue-white light. Seconds pass and stretch to infinity, as if someone captured the both of them and put them into a dimension where time is frozen, irrelevant, and they the only things that matter – an impression which is shattered to a thousand pieces by a dull thud from the storage room, followed by the rustling of the plastic bag. Newt! She doesn't know about the lethal danger lurking outside!

The alien's head snaps up. A step towards the open door, a second. It freezes. Eight meters to the storage room. Just one long pounce away. Hicks bites his lip again, fighting the urge to warn the girl, somehow still irrationally hoping that the threat will move away. Knowing he's stupid to do so. More noises from the plastic bag. _Stop it! Stop it!'_ As intense as the thought is, he isn't telepathic, and the knowledge that someone else is watching out for her seems to have dulled Newt's own instincts. She totally trusts him, depends upon him with her life, and he stands there and watches the alien approach step by step without doing anything, watches as it steps up between them. Seven meters. Six. It's moving slowly, with great caution. Has it been in the tunnel where the RSS sentries ripped the others to pieces? Has it been a witness, or has the massacre among its race been engraved into something like a collective memory, telling it now that this could be another trap, to be careful. Damn, he's got to do something, has to -five meters!

Hicks' brings up the 38 in a flash, pure reflex.

"Newt! Run!" Shots pierce the silence, and the double recoil from the 38 races through his arms. With clinical exactness he sees the first round enter the alien's skull, spraying acid. Sees the sparks when the second round ricochets off the gaping metal jaws as it whirls around to close the distance between them with just one incredible pounce! With a kick , the waste basket he's been using to block the signal flows into the corridor and the door slams shut – and almost flies out of the slide under the impact of the full-on attack. Tortured metal screams and buckles. A huge arm shoots through a narrow opening, slashing at Hicks's face, missing him by an inch so he can feel the rush of air on his skin while he's stumbling backwards. Crashing against another instrument board and almost comes off his feet, just looking up long enough to see the alien shatter the indestructible security glass with another blow that sends shards flying through the room like ice rain. He turns on his heels, performs a catapult start towards the door at the back of the room, his outstretched hand hitting the switch before his empty and now useless gun clatters to the floor behind him. An incredible reaction which would have gotten him first-rate reviews in every test he's ever participated in – but an eternity compared to the nightmare which bursts into the room right behind him, coming at him with the force of a freight train. He crashes against the slowly opening door at full tilt, squeezes through and stumbles forward, carried by momentum.

_Run! Run!' _

His body's on automatic now, acting on instinct, no time for thinking. He whirls around, detects another door and goes for it, a concussion behind him almost throwing him off his feet as the alien throws itself against the closed door – obviously intending to go straight through the wall. The next barrier between him and the beast! He's got a chance, dammit! One look for orientation. This is the backside of the surveillance room. Only two corners and approximately 50 meters separate him from the security of the ventilation shaft! No way the alien can follow him once he reaches it! A wave of adrenaline pushes him forward, gives him wings and the second wind. 30 meters now and still nothing behind him! _I'm making it!' _

His outstretched hand finds the corner, helps him rounding it without losing any of his speed. Only 20 meters and one corner left to security! Euphoria. _Almost there, dammit!'_ A thundering _crash as the door behind him explodes into the corridor, hitting the wall with deadly velocity. What_ - ' A quick glance back, instinctively. Inevitable. He has to slow down to turn around and see the dark silhouette jumping out of the opening in pursuit. Another step back, starting to turn again – into nothing.

A brief, sharp tug at his leg, the noise of tearing fabric, and he falls forward, flailing around for something to grasp, finding it for a moment before momentum carries him further and he loses his grip on the dissolved edge of the grating. A moment of flying – and the impact, brutal, painful on his back, knocking all wind out of him. His consciousness flows out of the window, catapults him into another dimension where air is a thick, viscous liquid, impossible to breathe. Impossible to move in. Holding him down. Time stretches, each second an eternity, it's eerie soundtrack the crazy pounding of his heart and his desperate gasping, and his sub-consciousness throws up the image of a capital salmon he caught once, years back on Earth. The glistening fish with the wild eyes on the riverbank, jerkily opening and closing it's mouth for air, dying...

A tear in the fog surrounding his brain – and the image disappears as fast as it come. Reality's close again, so close Hicks feels the vibrations of the generators through the grating under his hands. Then the concussion of heavy steps over him. '_It's coming! Get up, dammit!_ A crescendo of wailing sirens in his head, warning him, forcing him to get up, but the impulse dies on the way to his muscles. He's a bug someone has turned on its back, unable to get on its feet again, unable to move and at the mercy of the thing that's almost upon him now – with the exception that the alien knows no such thing as mercy! _On your feet, soldier! Move your ass!'_

Propping his hands on the floor, pushing himself up with all his might, he manages to lift his back a few inches off the ground – only to fall back gasping when a silver jolt of pain races down his spine. The twilight on the upper level is broken by a reflection, and he stiffens, too horrified to do anything but stare at the nightmare that stands there, motionless, eyeing him with almost human curiosity. Like a scientist watching the death throes of an impaled insect. A gloomy voice in his head, whispering. _That's it. You're dead. You're dead, and the girl will be alone again. Bad move, corporal. Very bad move... You can't fight it anymore_, _so it won't kill you... Looks like you're going to meet with Apone and Dietrich again after all...!' _

Something sharp under his fingertips, an irregularity in the otherwise perfect symmetry of the steel grating he's lying on. It takes a moment until his discovery sinks in, makes its way through his stunned consciousness, demanding immediate attention. Supreme effort makes him turn his head from the abomination that's starring down at him from the upper level, and his heart misses a beat: a hole. A big hole! Big enough for him! Something wet lands on his cheek. He barely feels it through his sudden excitement.

_You want me, bastard? Then come and get me!'_

He pushes himself over, disappears through the acid hole without even bothering to look what lies beneath. Who cares? This is his only chance, and the shrill, angry scream of the beast that following him as he falls, tells him that the alien knows this as well! Just the tiniest ray of hope - and then he lands with a big splash, and ice-cold water engulfed him. Stuns him immediately, and for a moment he cannot define the world consists of gurgling bubbles and black churning, roaring water. Then his self-preservation instinct kicks into high gear again and brings him back to the surface paddling like a dog, gasping and coughing. A hasty breath, a half-finished thought – _Where's the water com–,_ and then the pressure wave of the alien diving after him. Reflex causes him to thrust himself aside, into the wild current, expecting to feel a three-fingered claw closing around his ankle any second. The immediate danger rips him out of his stupor, and with the cold water dulling the pain in his back and leg and the new rush of adrenaline flooding his exhausted body, he feels like taking on the challenge. He's not about to give up easily, but determined to fight for his life with everything he's got left, not thinking about how pointless his struggle will ultimately turn out to be, not caring where the wild underground river carries him, consigning himself to the current. Everything's better than falling prey to this nightmare!

Still, his choice proves to be a tough one: It's almost impossible to keep his head out of the water while he's being swept away by the black whirls and rapids, straight down through the station's intestines at a crazy speed, with a ferocious undertow tugging at him, pulling him down again and again. An enormous roaring ahead – he's falling, landing with another splash several meters below and is pulled under and whirled around until he is no longer sure which way is up or down. With burning lungs he fights his way out of the current with vigorous movements, until his head finally breaks the surface and the sweet taste of air pushes back the panic that's been flapping its dark wings in the not-so-far back of his consciousness. Gasping and coughing he checks on his surroundings, treading water. Where is he? Where's the alien? It's proves almost impossible to find a point of orientation in the thick darkness around him. Water's running into his eyes, and he blinks it away, mechanically, looking back to the small waterfall which spit him out just moments ago. Where is all the water coming from, anyway? He doesn't remember reading anything about an underground river or pool or whatever in the files about Hadley's Hope, and surely this isn't some kind of canalisation, ither. There are far more advanced methods to get rid of waste of all kinds these days. So, what the heck –

Hicks cranes his neck back to check the ceiling, only to find the omnipresent steel grating he expected. Breaking the already scarce light that reaches him down here thousandfold, it seems to be intact. Sighing he turns his attention into a different direction. How the fuck's he supposed to get out? And where is the monster? Gone already? He doesn't think so, doesn't dare to hope. He's going to believe it as soon as he's reached a place where it will be impossible for the bastard to follow him, but right now Hicks doesn't feel like having reached such a position, as he absent-mindedly strikes back his wet hair, carefully watching out for any signs of a movement. With the twilight around him and all the debris blocking the drain-pipe, it would be unsettlingly easy for the predator to sneak up on him. Far too easy in fact. It could be anywhere!

Hicks comes to a decision. There's no way out of here for him. Best to follow the current further and hope for a better opportunity. He moves into the middle of the black river again and feels he strong pull at once, giving in to it without a fight, although he notices how he's being swept away further and further from their hideout. From Newt. Impossible to tell which direction the river's taking. Not in this darkness. With a jolt, he realizes the absolute blackness around him. It appears to be almost solid, no light now at all. Nothing. A sudden fit of claustrophobia. What if the water presses him into a flood-pipe? The current's incredibly strong now, and he knows very well that some of these ducts – especially the ones leading to the outside – are secured with steel bars at their ends to prevent any indigenous life whatsoever from entering the system uncontrolled. He won't be able to fight his way out against the current - he'll drown! His stomach sinks, and panic makes a dramatic reappearance, causing him to stretch out his arms and grab for something, anything that will prevent him from being sucked into a deadly trap - but before he's even stretched them halfway, his hands touch smooth, cool metal at both sides,- no, all sides! -, and he knows his nightmare has already come true, as he can feel the floor he's being dragged over at a frantic speed, colliding with the walls to either side, and the water's raising over his head all the way to the ceiling.

Now it's sheer panic, a full-blown claustrophobic fit that assaults him with his mind telling him he's drown in here like a big, fat rat! That there's no way out, that the only thing that'll await him - should he even make it to the end of the pipe - will be the dreaded steel bars, and he'll die within eyesight of his rescue. _Can the shit and get out!'_ Forcing himself to move, he banishes the thought, instead directing his immediate attention on his survival only. He needs to find a way out, and soon! The thunder in his ears, multiplied by the metal walls, drowns out all other senses – of time, orientation, everything, until the burning in his lungs is telling him that time's about to run out. Desperately, he moves with the current, attempting to speed up even though the narrow pipe he's in doesn't allow for any wide movements, clawing, crawling along to get out of this deathtrap.

But the pipe _just. Doesn't. End_. It stretches on and on, even though the water rages through it with a force that can only be hinting towards another outlet, but it's not yet visible! The cacophony in his head increasingly turns into the relentless hammering of his heart, and the urge to breath becomes everything. His vision deteriorates into exploding fireballs, and he feels the blackness lurking behind it, just waiting to devour him, the fire in his chest unbearable now, the reflex to open his mouth and draw the precious breath his body's longing for almost there – and then he's being spit out into the darkness. Is falling, falling... and lands headfirst in a glistening, black reservoir.

Air! Finally! Exhausted and shivering Hicks moves out of the still strong-going current, gagging, sucking in air, drinking it rather than breathing it, and after what feels like an eternity to him, his feet touch the ground again in the chest-deep water. Gasping and coughing, he finally feels his strength return enough to concentrate on something else than his immediate survival, his eyes gliding over the black sea up to the pipe he just slid down. Is it wide enough for the alien, too? Will it surface here right next to him in a second? Can it swim? Or did it blindly follow its instincts by diving after him, not thinking about the consequences when it saw its precious prey disappear on it?

Some anxious moments pass with him doing nothing but waiting, ready to act on the first sight of the beast. Nothing happens. Finally, he feels secure enough to take his eyes from the small waterfall and inspect his surroundings. Where is he? What's this place? Looking up through layers and layers of grated steel floor, he sees the cold starlight pouring through a big hole where the station's ceiling has been ripped away by a large chunk of debris. Seemingly it has been a part of the Sulaco that sliced through Hadley's outer hull and some of the underlying floors like a knife, inviting in the steady rain which had already accumulated to this big, black sea he landed in. Blinking away raindrops from his eyes, he takes a step towards the ragged hole in the middle of the ceiling – only to lose his balance when his right leg gives in under his weight!

_'What the-_ His hand wanders down to find the ripped fabric of his pants – in the middle of a warm cloud! His stomach turns into a cold knot. Carefully, Hicks touches his calf, muscles tensing in anticipation of the pain. His fingers find a long tear in the middle of the back of his leg... another one, running parallel to the first... and a third one! He swallows hard. How the fuck did he manage to injure himself like this without remembering? ... Oh... yeah... the brief tug right before he fell. Looks as if he sliced it open on a piece of damaged grating, and then first the impact on the lower level as well as the icy water stunned him enough to block the immediate pain. He still doesn't feel anything, in fact. Is this a good thing? Or something he should rather worry about? It feels as if it's more than just a scratch, but – he shoves the thought away. There's nothing he can do about it anyway. The injury certainly disables him to a certain degree, but it doesn't seem to be life-threatening, and thus can be ignored at the moment. Right now, his No. 1 priority has to be to get out of this place before the alien or one of its brethren detect him.

Shifting his weight to the good leg, Hicks gives his surroundings a more thorough look. There has to be a way out, and it's on him to find it before the nightmare, which has pursued him thus far, catches up with him. Everything appears to be quiet so far. Deceptively quiet. He knows by now how persistent these bastards are. Dangerous to rely on the assumption alone that he left it behind by taking this shortcut through the flooded drain. Everything inside of him screams alarm, begs him to hurry up. What about the ceiling? A possible way out? Can he climb up there, even with his ruined leg? Right now the water supports his weight and absorbs his handicap to a certain degree, but Hicks knows this is going to change on solid ground. Nevertheless... his gaze focus on the damaged ceiling. The panels of the lowest level hang down, torn to shreds and almost reaching the surface of the artificial lake, but Hicks has to let go of his idea of climbing it. In addition to the rest of the level he's able to see being a mess with more deathtraps than anything else – he's positive that the piece of wreckage won't support his weight.

Sighing, he turns around to give the walls a closer inspection, absent-mindedly hugging himself, his teeth clattering. Fuck, he's freezing! What's that up ahead? His eyes turn into narrow slits as he tries to penetrate the twilight. Some irregularities on the wall, which could be – under the best circumstances – entrances to the ventilation system. Still, to reach them he'd have to deal with the churning current again. Hicks hesitates. The terrain is precipitous and dangerous, and the water roars through the canal with a force that makes him doubt he' be able to deal with it again . There's no use in denying it any longer: His fall and the cold are beginning to have their effect on him, and he feels his strength diminish with every passing minute. Further contemplation is something he simply can't afford. Yeah, there's definitely a good chance for him of drowning in an attempt to reach the shaft openings – but what are his choices? Is there an alternative?

He stands there, clueless, for a few seconds longer – and jerks when he hears the splash of a massive thing behind him. There are rings in the water telling him where it has landed -... and then he detects the v-shaped line, its point moving towards him with great speed!

Hicks' muscles react before he's even begun to think about escaping – pushing him into the roaring rapids again. The decision's just been taken out of his hands! Now all that counts is speed! Two, three quick crawl movements make him shoot through the water while he's struggling to keep his head up. The opening! He's got to reach the opening! Now – he thrusts himself sideward and grabs one of the metal buttresses, fighting against the torrent that threatens to sweep him away and sees the object of his efforts at close range – and it's not an opening! The shadow of a hanging ceiling panel has betrayed him! A motion at the edge of his perception makes him turn his head, just in time to see a big black body dive back into the spray it has risen from briefly – not even ten meters away!

Back into the current, with the crazy pounding of his heartbeat almost bursting his chest. What now? Suddenly he collides with something solid, the impact knocking the wind out of him and whirling him around in the rapids. He's losing control of the situation, feels it slipping out of his hands. Up, which way is up? Paddling like a dog, his hands blindly grasping for some kind of hold without finding any, he gets smacked against another obstacle and pulled deeper by the undertow, and the roaring of the water drown out his senses, becoming everything. _'I'm drowning._ The thought is crystal-clear, the voice in his head calm and objective. No panic this time. _I survived the past three weeks despite the aliens, despite Weyland Yutani's efforts to shut us up for good, and despite the catastrophe, and now I'm buying it in this fucking pipe.' _

Newt's image in front of his inner eye. Newt... she'll be alone again from now on – His head brakes through the surface! A hasty breath, water and air rushing down his lungs, making him gag and cough as he's being whirled around like a toy, a prisoner of the flood that's shooting down the canal at a crazy speed. And directly in front of him – is an opening in the wall! A real opening, not a shadow this time! Realization hits him: This is it, his very last chance! He'll be dead if he misses the opening. A sudden rush of adrenaline floods his veins, makes him ready for the effort. A quick look back. The now shallow water doesn't hide the dark nightmare any longer, and the reflection of the lights from above show the bared teeth of the beast, which are about to rip him apart in a matter of seconds now!

Hicks turned back, sees the black mouth of the shaft shoot towards him – and gets a grip on its edge, holds on! Now his other hand, solidifying his position. He pulls himself up – and gets yanked away by the impact of the alien crashing against him.

_'No!'_

His hand shoots forward in a reflex – and finds something. A piece of cable! He wraps it around his wrist, grabs it with the other hand and holds on against the numbing force of the flood, which is already consuming all the strength he's got left – but it's enough. He won't be able to hold on for much longer. He's got to get out of the water! Through the churning froth he rather senses than actually sees the opening, less than three meters away. So close... A quick check.. Where is - the alien's right behind him, barely a body length away. Like him it found some kind of support by embedding its claws in the ground, and now it's hanging there – arms, legs and the tentacles on its back all pointing into different directions – like a big octopus, just waiting for its prey to fall into its arms. With clinical accuracy Hicks sees the entry wound in the curve of its head. He dealt the bastard a fucking head-shot, and it's still alive! Why doesn't it just die? What is it waiting for? He looks down, mesmerized, and the xenomorph stares back, both too exhausted for any action whatsoever. Stalemate. Comfortable. Safe. But it can't stay like this. The cold is getting to him, sucking his remaining strength away like a vampire. The cable starts to slide through his closed fists. His arm muscles burn, vibrating with effort. Another look. Three meters. Real close. Three meters against the rushing cold water. Possible? It has to be !

'_Come on, soldier!_ he orders himself, trying to rip himself out of his stupor. '_Do it!'_ '_Collapse later if you must, but do this, first! Pull yourself up!' _

Straining for all he's worth, he loosens one hand. Grabs the cable ten inches higher. Drags himself up. The other hand. Repeat. His muscles burn like hell, threaten to quit on him. He forces himself to continue, methodically, jaws clenched, eyes squeezed shut. Ten inches more. Violent  
shivers wrecked his body. He's cold... so cold! And tired... right hand. Pull up. Left hand.

_'Move it!' _

_'Breath... just... just need to catch my breath... _

'_Move. It.!_

He cranes back his neck. The opening appears to be barely closer. For a second, his head is getting too heavy, and it sinks into the shallow water he's dragging himself through.

_...can't... make it...' _

'_Get out of the current.' _

He rolls to his left side without loosing his grip on the cable, closer to the wall.

_'Now move it! Move your sorry ass!' _

A deep breath. Right. Pulling himself up. Left... left! Again his subconscious, treating him o another one of those unwelcome associations that assaulted his concentration. Again the salmon, but instead of lying on the river bank, gasping for air, it jumps up a waterfall. _'What am I? A fucking fish? And the bastard's the grizzly, just waiting for me to fail?' _One more look, and this time the shaft opening's directly in front of him. One meter left.

'_I can do this, dammit! _

A groan escapes him as he strains his muscles for a final chin-up. His fingers touch the edge, find a grip. Closer. Real close now! His gaze goes up, and the supreme feeling of making it to safety dies abruptly.

_It's too narrow! I won't fit! It's too small! _

For a moment he's just hanging there, staring at the narrow hole in the wall. Looks back. The alien stirs. Its prey won't escape a second time. Its powerful movements leave no room for interpretation: It's out to get him, and it wont fail again. Only a matter of seconds before it reaches him.

"No!" He doesn't know where the strength comes from that makes him grab the edge of the opening in a last attempt and helps him finding support for his feet; doesn't know how he's even managing to fit his shoulders into the shaft, but one moment later he finds himself lying on the vibrating floor, and the raging water is nothing but a dull echo in his ears. _'Almost there! Come on, soldier! Move it! Move your ass! _

Somewhere he finds some footing and some last reserves of his strength, enough to push him up and drag himself further into the security of the tunnel, as the screeching sound of tormented metal tells him he's no longer alone! Reflex makes him draw up his legs, just as the alien's arm shoots into his sanctuary. Inch-long claws rake over the floor, denting it. Only the left leg answers his instinct though, and as he takes the injured right one to pull it up with his hands, he feels the claws grazing his calf in another attempt to catch him!

"Die, dammit!"

The omnipresent rushing of the water is suddenly muffled. The tunnel is too narrow for him to turn around, but looking back Hicks witnesses horrified as the alien starts to force its big head into the conduit like a projectile, filling it. Shock numbs his body, paralyses him. This is impossible! It can't make itself this small! But the chrome-glistening teeth come closer and closer, inch by inch, promising him a bloody, violent death!

_No... no!' _

He drags himself further in, deeper into the shaft, into what he thought to be a secure place – and his head bumps against – steel bars! His own heartbeat a cacophony in his ears, he comes to a halt and stares at the obstacle. Massive, solid bars. No way of removing them. This is a dead end! A sinking feeling takes over, turns his body to ice. Suddenly it's impossible to catch his breath. He's fucked. This time for real. There won't be a miracle escape for him this time.

"No..." Another look back, frantic. Blackness fills the shaft now that the alien's body's completely blocking the opening, but he doesn't have to see it to know it's there. The screeching of biomechanical claws is all he needs to know how close it is. And the biting stench of the alien's blood, the hissing from the floor, as droplets of acid eat away the metal.

"Go away..." The words, hardly a whisper, are almost more than he can manage. Endless horror presses his chest together, makes it impossible for him to breathe. Somehow resisting the impulse to just give up and let it catch him, he pulls his legs up to his body, huddles against the bars and makes himself as small as possible. Sticks one arm through the bars and grabs his wrist with the other hand. Determined to hold on until it's over, one way or the other. It will have to rip him in two to get him off. Something glides over his boot... followed by a muffled thud and a far away splash. A shrill shriek – and then only the thundering torrent from the outside, back to full volume. Hicks stares back, unable to comprehend what he's just witnessed. Has it finally died on him? Did the powerful body just need this long to receive the signal from its nerves that it's actually dead? Did its strength fail it at last? Or has it been the wild underground river helping him by throwing one of the larger pieces of debris against the monster? Does it matter? No. His head sinks onto the vibrating floor, and he dimly feels the roughness of a welt pressing against his cheek, too exhausted to care. Is it important? It's gone. He's made it yet again. He... His mind begins to drift, and reality sails away in a downward spiral towards a black hole, taking him along.

-----------------------

It is almost morning when I return from my night's work with Darwin to the control room to have a last check on Dwayne Hicks before I grant myself a few hours of downtime. The meds I gave him should keep him under for the entire night, but I better make sure. The VR session seemed to have stirred things up big time for the corporal, and even though I'm anything but an expert on human behavior, I have to agree with Alexander's standpoint: The man belongs in therapy before we can accomplish anything with him.

When I enter the room, I see that little prick Yoshi Tanaka and my man hanging around in the dim night light, checking on the monitors. Not that I'm surprised. I half expected to find him here, even though his shift ended hours ago. Alexander's a responsible doctor. I'm not sure, but I even think he might have gotten his act together again and quit the drugs. At least his eyes aren't that red anymore. Smiling, I walk toward him.

"Alexander! You here?"

"Yes, yes…" He puts his coffee down and invites me to have a seat next to him. Tanaka gives me a nasty glare from the side, but I couldn't care less. "Kurtz and Darwin told me to have an extra eye on him for tonight." His finger touches the image of the sleeping soldier, who appears to be quiet for now. A short glance up at his readouts show me he's in fact in deep sleep. No dreams for him there.

"Looks good, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, for now… His REM-phases, of course, are a totally different matter." Alexander sighs. "I'm afraid there lies some work for us. The man's obviously deeply shaken. For Darwin to use him for her project, we would have to make him much more stable first. I mean, the part of the psycho has already been cast, right? We don't need two of them!" He chuckles and tips his finger on the image of the fitfully sleeping giant on the next monitor. "Our psycho, of courses, sleeps safe and sound as a baby."

"Raven, yeah…" I shrug. "I still don't know whether it's such a good idea to give him those alien genes. He already _is_ a monster. Do we really want to know what kind of a monster he can become if we enhance him?" My glance goes back to the sleeping soldier. "You know, Alexander, I could really use your help with this one." I nod at the monitor.

"Huh? How? Why?"

"Darwin wants me to get close with him. To become his confidante. I agree that he's likely to clam up and not tell us anything once we started working on him, and she wants me to get it out of him. His secrets, his feelings – everything he'll shut up about." I shake my head. "But I don't know how to do it. I've been acting sympathetic towards him ever since she told me about her plan. I even brought him the medication tonight to help him sleep… but he doesn't buy it. He doesn't care. I mean, he's totally right, but – I don't see how I should get on his good side."

To my surprise and mild anger, my friend chuckles at that.

"Isis, Isis… you're such a smart person and can download everything I needed to learn for six years in a matter of six minutes, and still you need my help on something as simple as that?"

"Well… yes," I confess, deciding against the building rage in me to play along. Sometimes, Alexander needs to be pampered to share his secrets with me. To be assured he's still the 'man'. And haven't I always been great at extracting information off him without him noticing? He leans back in his chair, his blue eyes fixed on the monitors image, and runs a hand through his thick, black hair.

"You know what always works, Ice?"

"Obviously not."

"Get him in an ugly situation, and then side with him against your boss. He'll love you for it."

"Huh?" I crease my brow.

"It's easy enough! Once Darwin's started working on him, she'll be his enemy no.1. You could score by trying to cut him some slack from the ordeal she's going to put him through! You know, by telling her to wait and give him some more time to recover. He'll be most thankful for that." He places his hands in his lap as he ventures off into another one of his famous monologues. "I don't know what exactly she's going to do to him, but your chances of becoming his friend will heighten with the amount of pain that's involved in the process."

"Why?"

"People in intense pain tend to become all subconscious. They don't 'think' anymore. They only 'feel'. 'Sense'. If you play this clever, you can use the situation to your advantage. And you _are _clever, Ice. You'll be able to seize the opportunity. I'm sure. You still need to do it subtly though, elegantly, or he'll notice. Make sure he hears you object to Darwin, but don't turn it into a comedy. Don't overdo it. There's a fine line you must be careful not to cross, because once he notices you want to manipulate him, that will be it. He'll withdraw from you permanently. Do it right – and you'll find yourself a new friend."

I sigh.

"It still sounds complicated."

"We humans _are_ complicated," Alexander smiles. "But that's also what's making us so darn interesting. Everybody's different. Everybody ticks differently. You need different approaches on different persons to come to the same results. It's fascinating stuff, Isis! You should enjoy it, not gripe about it."

"Yeah, whatever…" He's looking at me, probably even winking, but I choose to ignore him in favor of the soldier. Still musing my Russian's words. Could he be right? Could it be that easy? Is all I need to succeed some plumb manipulation? While I'm still staring at Dwayne Hicks' image, I see his brainwaves change above the monitor, documenting his passage from deep sleep to REM sleep. It is almost morning, but it seems as if one last serving of dreaming's still waiting for him tonight…

--------------------------

Blackness. Not the dark, bottomless void he's been drifting through for - he doesn't know how long, but a thick, heavy swamp, quicksand that drags him down in an ever-winding, endless spiral. Surrounding him, pressing against him until he can hardly breathe anymore, cold and clammy. Sucking the life out of him, draining him of every last reserve of strength he needs to pointlessly battle against its pull. Finally spitting him out as a shivering, miserable bundle.

Drip... drip... drip... For a while, he's just laying there, motionless, unable to move. Not sure whether this is reality or still the dream. He opens his eyes... to more blackness, a solid black wall impossible to penetrate. Disorientation washes over him like a tidal wave. Is this for real? Or just another black hole his exhausted mind's been thrown into by his disobeying body to keep him under until he's recovered enough to act? It feels solid enough. From the welt his cheek is being pressed against to the leaden tiredness that lies on his body like a net, tying him to the ground. The droplets of water exploding on his left cheek in a monotonous rhythm. Something also presses against the pit of his right elbow, effectively cutting off the bloodstream from his lower arm ,which feels numb and like the hand of someone else to the touch of his left hand, which is still closed around the numb, cold wrist in a deadlock, a grip so tight he can virtually feel his fingernails digging into his own flesh.

Carefully, incredibly careful he releases his hold, ready to tighten it again should he begin to slide. But he doesn't, and so he lets go completely. His arm feels odd, like the limb of a corpse, as he slowly releases his grip around the invisible bars by changing his position just the slightest bit. Even this tiny move makes his back explode with pain. At once, he feels the wall to his right, hindering his movement, and he weakly lifts his head to look at the obstacle - only to bump it on the ceiling with a hollow noise, while his left hand is still prodded against the left wall. A sudden fit of claustrophobia. He's caged - locked into a metal coffin with no way out!

His head flies up against the ceiling again, panic flooding his conscience. A metal band tightens around his chest, forcing all air out of his lungs; making it impossible to breathe, and what breath he's got left sounds hollow in his ears, magnified by his tight surroundings until the ragged crescendo is the all he hears. He's got to get out of here, has to - a more violent move in an attempt to roll himself on the back - and a white-hot bolt of pain explodes around his right shoulder blade and drowns out all other sensations, leaving him gasping for air.

'_God - no...'_ he sinks back, breathless, horrified to find himself incapable of doing anything at all about his messed-up situation, slowly realizing that this narrow pipe will indeed become his grave - as he hears it. The noise of the rushing water, suddenly muffled, then silenced. The anguished screaming of steel under claws harder than the hardest material man could built. The ground under his body trembles under the impact of something heavy, closing in on him with merciless determination. He can't see it, but he can feel it... sense it... even smell the stinging acid from the head wound, mixed with the faint trace of rain water dripping from its massive body, coming closer, and closer yet.

'_No... no...'_ There's nothing left to do for him but wait for the inevitable. Nowhere left to go or hide. Just waiting and listening to the predator's approach, feeling the force of its movements, it's unflinching attention directed at him... and only him. Horror slackens his body, paralyzes him. He prays it will be over quick. Prays it won't take him alive. In the leaden darkness, another sound replaces the muffled water rushing by and his own ragged breathing...a moist, wet sound he knows all too well... louder now, louder. Turning into a hiss –

- and he screams, an anguished long scream of endless horror, no words, just sheer, unimaginable, all-consuming horror. Something touches his arm, and he trashes around in a vain attempt to shake it off, to avoid the unavoidable. Throws his aching body to the other side even though he knows there's no space, just the wall.

"Noo...!" His eyes snap open – but while it's still dark and his drowsiness profound, he can tell at least one thing yet – he's not lying in the tunnel anymore! There's no wall holding him captive. He's – he's… Hicks freezes, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath, out of air, and turns his head. Wants to say "Light" – but his tongue refuses to work. Something's pulling him down again, making him feel heavy like lead. The dream's not over yet, he knows. He's had it before. The ghosts from his nightmare are still there, very much alive, lurking in the back of his mind and ready to hit him again with full force as soon as he dares to close his eyes. He knows. He doesn't want to fall asleep again tonight, but he can't escape the pull towards the black hole. It's impossible keeping his eyes open. '_No…no..'._ Fear returns, seeps into his restless mind like thick syrup. Primal fear, like the one he felt lying in the narrow dark tunnel for days, too weak to leave it, his body a hurting mess, his mind racing with the endless possibilities of buying it in this darkest of places.

Fear they would find him. Fear for Newt. Fear he would not be able to get out of the duct until it was too late, of dying of thirst... or bleeding to death. His mind jumps immediately to the precise recollection of the warm stickiness on his fingers as he carefully examined his leg in the darkness without being able to see the damage done… and with the memory of the pain and despair, the last barrier between reality and dream falls…

From the way his back is throbbing and how he isn't able to use his right arm much, he suspects he's at least broken his shoulder blade, but as painful as the injury is, it can be ignored for the moment. It's not life-threatening. His leg however... remembering the warm cloud he's been standing in while he was still in the water, he expects it to be bad... but how bad? Is it still bleeding? The weakness and the cold... are they already the tell-tale signs of critical blood-loss?

'_Dammit, you're soaked and this ain't exactly a tropical island. You're probably still in shock, too, so being cold, even to the point where your teeth are clattering, is perfectly normal. Don't get all hysterical!'_

It sounds pretty good; almost good enough to convince himself – but then his fingers find the gaping lines in the middle of his calf, and he hisses as the pain performs a quantum leap in reaction to his touch. His vision deteriorates into bright white supernovas and finally his head's falling to the floor with a thud as the last reserve of his strength deserts him. A weak groan echoes hollowly in his ears. Eyes squeezed shut against the pain, he probes further. He needs to know how deep the gashes are. Needs to know whether he will have to do something to staunch the bleeding – '_Good one, Corporal. How!'_ or... or...

Time drags, the minutes and hours of pain lingering on for what's feeling like an eternity to Hicks. He can't move. His hip and shoulder hurt from lying on the hard ground for... hours? Days? He doesn't know. He has long since given up on checking the green-glowing numbers on his chronometer. They lost every meaning to him, are nothing more than abstract runes... or an eye test, since they're the only thing he can still see and confirm he has not turned blind all of a sudden. The initial shock has long vanished and left him behind in its wake as a miserable, hurting mess, unable to do anything about his situation at all. Convinced he's going to die here, in complete blackness, every noise in the tunnel behind the bars a possible threat, an alien on its way to finding him and finishing him off.

The only way of determining how much time has passed since he's landed himself in this mess is his thirst. It's bad. So bad that thinking about something else is virtually impossible. Occasionally he turns a little more onto his back, despite the intense pain from his shoulder, to catch the tiny droplets of water which are otherwise landing uselessly on his cheek. But it's not enough to quench his thirst, not even enough to let the raw feeling in his throat vanish or soothe his chafed lips. But this still isn't the worst thing about his situation. The worst thing is... he's alone. Alone without any hope someone's going to find him. There is only one person left on this planet who'd be able find him in this enormous maze of ducts anyway ... a scared little girl. A child. She'll probably go back to her old hiding place now, certain to never see him again. Certain he's dead. Hicks can't blame her. She has seen all the others die, so what reason should there be for her to believe he's still alive? And where should she begin looking for him if she did?

He's alone. The experience is frightening beyond everything he's known so far. Claustrophobia has never been a problem for him, but here... not being able to see a damn thing, just feeling _how _narrow the tunnel is, it probably would even cause nightmares to a synthetic.

He's finally run out of luck. He's had a lot of it over the length of his career...enough to turn him into something like a freak among his comrades – an optimistic soldier. Who's ever heard of something as paradox as that? As things were, he has actually been surprised himself it held that long. There had been a few incidents he _should_ not have been able to come out off in one piece, and as optimistic as he might have seemed to others, Hicks had realized long ago he had been living on borrowed time. Most of the guys he'd been to boot camp with were already dead. It's common knowledge that only a low quota of marines actually make it to the 'golden end'... 35 percent or so... but the gratification at the end of their active duty is so ridiculously high, it keeps on luring the young boys into service nevertheless. If you were one of the lucky few survivors, you'd be set up for life. No more worries to the end of your days... He's come pretty close to the golden exit before his luck has finally turned, he thinks bitterly. Of course this is an awful way of buying it, but it has been coming for him for a long time...

His mind threatens to wander off again, in spite of the water dripping down from the ceiling right onto his cheek. He doesn't even notice anymore. Fever, pain and exhaustion are eating him up slowly but surely. The ground under his head vibrates. He doesn't pay attention. _Drip... drip... drip_... as steady as a metronome, a hollow, dull noise, echoing in the darkness. The only noise except for the muffled rush of the flood behind him. Hypnotizing...

Hicks lets himself sink deeper, listens to the sound of the falling water until it fills out his entire consciousness. A rustle, somewhere in the blackness beyond the bars that are holding him captive. He doesn't bother turning his head. If they finally found him, good. Maybe it's preferable to the end that would await him here. Maybe it'll be faster...

Another noise, closer. Something's definitely there. Hicks knows he should be worried, but just can't find the strength in himself to care. He starts to drift off again, eyes closed.

'_Just... just let me sleep...'_

The metal floor's vibrating under the impact of something moving forward towards him, and the rustle of clothes can be heard. Then the sound of naked hands being placed on the ground, accelerating.

"Hicks? Hicks!"

'_Newt? - It's a dream... a dream. She's not here. Nobody's here...'_

He doesn't bother to react. Is too weak to, anyway. This is just another one of these freakin' fever-dreams, cruelly leading him into believing there is a way out of this mess for him, only to have reality hit him over the head again as soon as he wakes to find himself still alone. A shivering, hurting mess, half frozen one minute, burning up the next. His bad leg throbs, and whenever he tries for even the tiniest movement, another silver jolt races down his spine to explode between his shoulder blades. No way out for him. No way of leaving the tunnel. Not through the duct, and not by going back the way he came. Given his condition, Hicks knows he'd drown in the flood.

"Hicks, please! Please, it's me! Say something, please?"

The words come mixed with thin sobs of relief and worry. He knows this voice. The girl. Newt. Newt, who will be alone from now on, because he let down his guard for one critical moment. A fatal error on this planet. Damn, he should have known, right? How could he have been such an idiot? No wonder his bad conscience is now plaguing him with those visions of Newt. He's going to have to listen to her accusations until he'll finally sink down to the bottom of the darkest pit of his consciousness where no dream and no hallucination is ever going to reach him, shortly before it all will be over.

Something touches his head, strokes his wet hair. Careful, as not to cause him pain. A small hand he senses through the fog around his mind. A... small... hand... ! '_Can't be... can't be her...'_

"Hicks, please..." More sobs, heartbroken. Frightened beyond everything he's ever heard. A choked whisper. "Don't leave me alone again..." Brightness explodes into his face and finally rips him out of his numbness. For a hallucination, this is pretty realistic... He cranes his neck back just the slightest bit, and the tiny movement sucks out the last of his remaining strength... opens his eyes to the fireball directly in front of him...

"HicksHicksHicks! Oh Hicks...!" Then nothing but excited sobs of relief and the feeling of her fingers on his throbbing head, soothing. Reassuring him that everything will be okay again. It _is_ Newt! It really, really _is_ her and not another one of those tormenting dreams! She's found him! Somehow, in this maze of black ducts, blind luck lead her his way! He feels something like a joyful jolt racing through him. He isn't alone anymore... no matter what's going to happen, he won't die alone in the dark. There is something very comforting in that thought. Incredibly, he feels his sprung lips form the ghost of a smile.

"Newt..." The half-whispered word scratches like sandpaper in his dry throat, makes him wince and cough. It doesn't sound good, and Hicks can feel an ominous rattling in his hurting lungs. Bad news... but damn, he's so happy to see her! "Hey..."

Somehow - he doesn't know how - he manages to lift his good arm and stick it through the bars of his prison, feeling her tiny hand clasping his fingers... and almost starts to cry. Yes, yes, she's real. The sheer enormity of his discovery is lost on him in his deranged state - what an incredibly selfless act it has been for the child to overcome her fear, to leave the relative safety of her hideout and go looking for him - but her simple presence here beside him - just looking up into her small, dirty, tear-streaked face - is enough to make him come apart.

"Oh Hicks, I'm so happy! I didn't know where to look, so I just... I just thought, maybe you fell into this hole, and... and...I don't know, I looked everywhere!" She is out of breath. "I'm _so_ glad I found you! Everything will be okay now, yes? Everything will be okay now!" Her fingers press his hand in affirmation of her words.

"Turn... turn the light, please?" After the hours – or days – of solid blackness, the light's searing his eye nerves. She obliges, having noticed how he has been squinting at her, his eyes watering. Another weak smile on his dirty face. God, it's great to see her – even if that means she's been out in the open in constant danger to find him. He wants to tell her, but finds it impossible to think up the words. Something's dragging him down again.

"What can I do?" her worried young voice echoes in his ears. She is realizing the state he's in and understands that the possibility of losing her adult protector is still very real. Yes, what _can_ she possibly do for him? It's great to be no longer alone, but aside from company, what is it he needs from her the most? She looks so eager to supply it. And yet, the thought of her crawling through this labyrinth in search for anything he might send her to get causes him headaches. Damn, if it weren't for his thirst, he could probably... He pauses. Thirst. Maybe, maybe she could...

"Newt?" He strains to tilt his head and look up into her dirty, tear-streaked face... only to find it hovering in the dark, impossibly at least three meters away... and disappearing further. "Newt!" he croaks. She opens her mouth to answer him, but the words are muffled beyond recognition, as if there were a barrier of wadding between them, her face becoming a small point at the end of a long, dark tunnel, through which he's being sucked away into the opposite direction. Falling... falling... then everything turns black.

The next time he opens his eyes, the darkness has been replaced by a warm, flickering glow. It takes Hicks a least a minute to recognize he can actually see his surroundings. The reflection of a flame – '_It's a candle. She found a candle...'_ on the tarnished metal. The crude welded seams he's lying on, the darn steel bars which pose such a great problem to him. His gaze turns to the candle stump. A lighter and another – unlit – candle are lying right next to it. No sign of Newt. An unconscious, thankful smile wanders over his face for a second. This is so much better than darkness... the feeling of being buried alive has been chased off by the light. And there – his heart skips a beat. The transparent plastic bottle in front of him... it can't be real, can it?

In slow-motion – which is all he's still capable of – he extends his good arm and touches its cool surface. Closes his fingers around it. It is real! Oh God...! The kid's gold! A huge wave of thankfulness threatens to flood away his composure again while his fingers are fighting with the lid. Some curious weight threatens to pin him down, and he looks at his arm. The realization of what he's seeing takes endless moments. A blanket. He's covered in a blanket.

"Newt…' If he makes it through this, it will be thanks to her. She is his only chance of survival, no matter how crazy it sounds. They depend on each other in every way. He needs her to get out of this mess – while she won't be able to get off Acheron without his help. She needs him to drive with her to next – hopefully not alien-infested – atmosphere processor and activate the automatic distress signal.

'_Yeah, right,_' the cynical voice in the back of his mind sneers. '_As if! Look at you! You're a_ _wreck. Do you really think you're able to go anywhere?_' Pushing these uncomfortable thoughts back for a moment, Hicks raises the bottle to his lips and sucks greedily the lukewarm water. It tastes of plastic and chlorine, but right now it's to him as if he never tasted anything better. '_Stop it – not_ _everything at once!'_ It takes all of his willpower to put the bottle down after just three hasty swallows. If he drinks more, he'll be in danger of losing it all again, as his heaving stomach reminds him. And – what if Newt doesn't return? What if they get her while she's away to - ! As fast as the image popped up from his mind, he tries to shove it back – but it's too late. Yes, what if he waits for her to return – and she won't? Maybe she's already glued to the wall over at the processing station? He doesn't know for how long he's been out. Hours? A day even? Everything could have happened in the meantime!

The black thoughts spin around in his head in an endless circle, dampening his mood to the point of despair again… and then – out of the blue - an icy shudder hits him, making his teeth clatter. Things are about to get worse, he realizes… much worse…

--------------------

... the dream deteriorates to an order of indistinct notions, rags of memories, torn, twisted and out of context. Nightmares, fever-induced hallucinations with metallic, bony aberrations grinning at him, blood and tissue seeping from their glistening jaws. Dreams that place him among his squad, only to relive the incidents in C-level again, dreams that force him to watch while the aliens tear into his friends like living chainsaws. There's the memory of pain, the hot throbbing in his leg and shoulder, his blood shifting between hot lead and ice water within seconds. The recollection of abysmal despair. Of noises, something moving in the tunnel, sometimes far away and indistinct, then again close by and threatening. The sound of his own rustling, labored breathing, together with the fear of suffocating. The blanket's soaked with his cold sweat and doesn't give off any warmth anymore to the point where he can't stop shivering. '_Going_ _downhill_', he thinks. '…_not making it…' _

Sometimes, the girl is there by his side, only separated from him by the cursed steel bars, her arm around his neck. Talking to him. Comforting him. Crying. Pleading. She can see how bad he is. She knows chances are she'll be alone again very soon. And she tries to prevent it, fights against looming fate with everything her six years let her think of. She brings him food and water, but he's too weak to eat by now. He can only drink, but most of the water splashes over his face and to the floor because he's got only one hand left to use, and it's shivering violently. The point comes where his thoughts flow apart like quicksilver. Shiny, hot and fleeting , they race away from his grasp. Behind them, there's only darkness. A heavy, oppressing blackness that's pulling him closer and closer. At first he's terrified and fights against it, but the closer he gets, the more inviting it seems. It promises him the end of this torture, the end of all useless fighting. Once he's there, there will only be silence. Oh yes, it sounds too good to be true…

"-hear me?" His cheek burns, and there's the distant sensation of someone shaking him. "Hicks, wake up! Please, wake up!" Somehow, he doesn't know how, he manages to lift his eyelids even though they seem to weigh tons. Newt again. Or her image. Whatever."I got something for you, look!" She sticks her hands through the bars and puts down a plastic bag of unknown contents. What? More food? He's not hungry. "This will help you to get better! I found it in the hospital." She sounds enthusiastic and urgent at once.

Hospital… hospital? '_Come on, man, get a grip!'_

"I took everything I found. There must be something in there that can make you better!"

Maybe… could she be right? Hicks stirs almost imperceptibly, aiming at sticking his hand into the bag and see what she found…but alone the mere thought – the first clear one since he doesn't know when – exhausts him more than he can tell, and he sinks back.

"Can… can you read… read them to me?" Yes, she's only six years old. Most children her age couldn't. But he doesn't think, can't be bothered with this now. So it's neither to his surprise nor to his relief, when she answers a short, clear "Yes" and takes back the bag to read him the labels with some difficulty. Morphine. Aspirin. Paracetamol. Some stuff he doesn't know. And finally, something he recognizes as an antibiotic. "That. Give me… please?"

She hands him the ampoule, and he looks at the amber liquid in deep absorption, his concentration threatening to leave him. Takes it – and almost lets it fall. Another heat-wave races through his body, forcing what little water he drank out of his body. Dizziness overwhelms him, and he has to close his eyes.

"Got a… a syringe?" He hears her rummaging through the bag. Something's being pressed into his hand, and he feels the cylindrical form he's been hoping for. "And a needle?"

"Yes," she replies, sounding proud. And why shouldn't she be? She thought of everything. She's the only chance he has! "I already gave it to you."

Okay… summoning up whatever's left of his concentration, he opens his eyes again. Just one minute longer, and he'll be able to doze off and sleep as much as he wants to, but right now he's got to pull through this. He starts concentrating on the words for requesting that she opens the sealed packages for him, but before he can utter them, she's already thought of it herself – and even places the needle onto the syringe to give both to him.

"Good…that's good, Newt… but I still…" the words slip away from his grasp, "- I need you to do one more thing." Catching his breath, he makes a new, desperate attempt at concentrating. "Jab the needle through the lid." He waits until she complies, her young, dirt-smeared face a mask of absorption with her serious task. She wants to save him so hard…"Good. Now turn the ampoule upside down – right." Christ, he's burning up… "Now draw it into … into the syringe. Slowly. See that there are no bubbles in it." A coughing fit interrupts him, make his lungs ache. It takes an eternity to let off, and his sight's too blurry by now to see what she's done. He'll have to trust her. His life is in her hands. "Newt?"

"I can't make the bubbles go away," she complains, despairing. She knows how important the task is he assigned her for, and wants to make him proud of her.

"Knock against it with… your fingertips. Gently…. Then.. then push them out."

"-kay…" The energy to follow her efforts has left him completely now, and when she finally puts the syringe back into his good hand, he hardly notices. Now for the hard part…the one part he can't switch to her.

"Good…that's good…" He's got to do it left-handed. Shaking violently, he jabs the syringe into the muscle of his thigh. '_Come on, you've done this times before._ _This one shot could save your life! Pull yourself together!_'A little blood wells up inside the cylinder, and he pushes the contents into his system and lies back, completely spent. This is it. They did all they could do. Now all that's left to do is wait. The rest is up to his body… Just before unconsciousness claims him again, Hicks feels a tiny hand clasp his in affirmation and hears a whispered: "Please… don't die."

Another whirl of unfinished, indistinct sensations and memories. The fight against the infection in the tunnel, going on for a time span he can't define. The every-day effort of giving himself the shot. No improvement at first. His mind deteriorating, caught up between fever-dreams and hallucinations. Heat, intense heat, the sensation of burning up from the inside. And pain… muscle tremors, his leg, his back… his entire beaten body, so bad that he wants it to end. The stench of his own, cold sweat and the wound. '_You're going to lose that leg…'_

Somehow, he makes it through the darkest hours… to wake up in the flickering glow of a candle stump, feeling weak, disoriented… but cool. And surprisingly clear. The fever's hold on him has finally broken, and as he cranes his neck back just the slightest bit, he sees the girl's silhouette close beside him, sleeping… and _NO STEEL BARS_! The realization hits him with a wave of excitement. Not trusting his eyes, he stretches his hand out to feel… they're gone! They're indeed gone! How can this be?

"Newt?" His throat feels like sandpaper, and he grimaces. Two shallow swigs from the bottle in front of him soothe it enough to try it again. "Newt? Wake up!"

"Huh? Wha-" Her sleepy, blue eyes widen when she sees him staring at her. A first tentative, unsure ghost of a smile crosses her face – and broadens when she realizes he must be feeling better. "Hicks? You're awake!" Without warning, she leans forward to hug him, and with some surprise Hicks feels the moisture on her face. She's crying! "I was so afraid!"

He hugs her back with his good arm and waits until she has calmed down again to point at the non-existent bars.

"What happened?"

She beams at him.

"You were sleeping, and I went to look around some more. You know, my mom always read me and Timmy this pirate-story, and there's a part where the pirates are in prison and want to escape. And you know what they did? They used a rasp to saw through the bars, and when the soldiers came the next morning to get them, they were gone." Hicks can't help but grin in utter amazement. The girl's so incredible! "So I looked in some rooms, and found this." She holds up a tool Hicks recognizes as a steel saw. "It took me three days to do it, but look! We can go now!"

He shakes his head in disbelief and gently ruffles her hair with his good hand.

"You're one smart girl, Newt. Anybody ever told you before?" It's dark, but is that a blush he sees on her cheeks as she casts her eyes down?

"My brother always called me smarty-pants…"

His grin broadens.

"Just my luck you were here to help me, smarty-pants!" Hicks lies back to listen into his body. Is he really ready to leave the security of the tunnel? How far will he be able to go before strength will desert him? But he wants out of this metal coffin! "Okay…." a deep breath. "Wanna try to leave, then?"

"Yes! Oh, yes!"

"All right… I don't think I'll be able to go too far right now, but… I wanna go , too." He hesitates before he dares to voice his next question. "The aliens… are there many of them left? Did you-"

"-meet any?" she finishes for him. "I heard one yesterday. But that was the only time."

"Good…" Doesn't sound too bad. Maybe Ripley _was_ right after all. Maybe there _were_ only a few of them left… and maybe, the catastrophe decimated them even further. The chances of making it to the garage without meeting at least one of them might not be too bad. Briefly wondering whether his personal adversary might be also among the aliens' losses, Hicks comes to a decision. "You know the way to the garage?" Back in Operations, they discussed this particular plan plenty of times, so she doesn't ask why. She knows what he intends to do – and nods. "Are there any… you know, like those little niches you were hiding in just before we found you?"

"They're all over," she quips, eager to supply information to him.

"Okay… " another deep, deep breath. Bracing for the effort lying ahead of him. "Then let's go, what d'you say?"

"Aye-firmative!"

The way through the tunnels is an unending composition of pure torture. He's got to crawl, flat on his stomach, only able to use one good arm and one good leg to push and pull himself along. After just two times of reaching up and dragging himself over the floor, his broken shoulder explodes into agony and forces him to take half of the morphine shot Newt's carrying along in her bag. As much as he'd like to take all, it would put him out. With the pain subsiding to a tolerable level, Hicks quickly discovers the next problem: his strength won't last for more than ten meters at a time, less, the further they proceed. They're awfully slow, human snails – in constant fear of the alien birds to come and pick them. Newt's a great help, urging him along, but even so Hicks feels her underlying impatience with him. It's dangerous out here. Twice they hear ominous noises in the shafts above their heads, the sound and vibrations of something heavy, big moving along swiftly. He can feel the girl's nervousness multiply by the minute. Why doesn't he hurry up? He tries, he gives everything… and collapses again, gasping. The floor vibrates under him, and the next moment, he's looking into the girl's anxious face again.

"We can't stay here, we need to go on! Come on! It's not so far anymore to the end."

He wants to ask what she means by 'not so far', but skips it. What for? She's likely to miscalculate – after all, how accurate can a child's sense of dimension be? - and it really doesn't matter. He's got to make it through this blasted tunnel, no matter if it goes on for just ten more meters - or ten kilometers. Collecting reserves he didn't know he had, he drags himself along, further through the darkness. And further. Until some time – his chronometers says 08:56, but he can't tell for the life of him whether it's a.m. or p.m. – they reach the main walkway… what's left of it, and twilight replaces blackness.

Paradoxically, he's suddenly hesitant to trade the relative safety of the duct for the width of the corridor. But they've got to go, and so he slips out of it awkwardly, yelling at one point, when he looses his grip on the edge and lands on his bad leg and then, with a thud, on the floor, seeing nothing but stars. '_Up, up! This ain't a public beach here!'_ But this is the first opportunity for him to actually see his leg, and he can't resist. Just one glimpse, just – he freezes, hearing Newt's urgent voice – "Get up! Get up!" – from a distance, as he stares mesmerized at the ripped fabric of his pants, plastered to his leg with blood. Lots of blood. The gaping, raw flesh he sees through the tears is enough to change his mind again. Yes, he'll have to deal with that… but not now. Pushing the image of his shredded leg as far from him as possible, he prods his back against the wall… and pushes himself up with the last of his remaining willpower. Sways as weakness and the morphine clash in his body. What now? He knows he won't be able to stand for long, and certainly not on just one leg.

"Hicks, we need to go!" A tiny hand grasps his. He gives himself a mental kick to proceed, balancing precariously on one foot and using Newt to place part of his weight on her, kind of a human crutch. She doesn't complain, but he knows he's too heavy for her. There's just no freakin' alternative! Somewhere along the way, his injured leg turns to rubber, and not even limping is possible anymore, even though the morphine's still keeping the pain subdued. They make it into an empty storage room where he all but collapses. Using the last trick his clouded mind can come up with, he asks the girl to go looking for some kind of duct tape and something to make an improvised cast of, before he blacks out. Coming to half an hour later, he detects she's back with some narrow metal tubes and the tape, and gets busy preparing his leg, first disinfecting the wounds best he can with what he finds in her bag, and then placing the tubes around it, strapping it to his ankle, calf and knee with the duct tape, pulling it as tight as he's just able to bear. A cocktail consisting of the other half of the morphine and some added adrenaline to power his stuttering engine goes into his veins, and then it's time to proceed.

Somehow, again with many, many breaks, they make it down to the garage, amazingly undisturbed, and the sight of the various all-terrain vehicles there – most of them intact, as it appears – provides an unexpected ray of light through the dark clouds. Even better, when Newt leads him to her parent's truck, they find it open, and an assortment of food – artificial juice and soft drinks, some candy, some canned stuff and preserved and sealed bread – within. Enough to let him decide that they won't need to go looking for it anywhere else, except in the other vehicles, where they find an additional variety of bottles, cans and snacks. Nothing healthy, but probably enough to get them through at least the next two or three weeks. The key, to his unfathomable relief, still sticks in the ignition. Hell, it's energy cell is even half-full, which should be more than enough to get them to the next processor.

They're good to go… provided the stormwall's entrance they took when they entered the premises with the APC is still open. But then Hicks remembers the image the monitor showed him… of the shredded landing field… the smoking remains of the _Sulaco_… their chances of the stormwall having been ripped to pieces by the explosion seem good. Now all he's got left to figure out is how to work the pedals of the truck with his bad leg. He'll be okay for as long as the morphine lasts, but then… '_Better get going…'_ He turns the key, and the powerful engine roars to life.

"Newt?" He nods toward the seat next to him, and sees her sitting down and fastening the security belt from the corners of his eyes. The expression on her face is not to be missed, and he can't help react to it himself, actually feeling a little scent of exhilaration come through his substantial exhaustion. "Hey…we've made it. In five minutes, we're out of here." A small, but honest smile, which she returns.

"I knew we would. You promised, right?"

"Right." Their eye-contact holds for another long moment. Wordless communication. Thankfulness. New-found optimism. Whatever happens, things are bound to get better from now on. Another small nod, before Hicks turns his attention back to the sight in front of the windscreen, shifts into gear and gets them out.

And on Phooka-station, the alarm clock in compound 2273, usually referred to as 'The Zoo' by the staff, goes off and wakes its inhabitants to a glorious new day…

**- END OF PART 1 -**

(To be continued in CHRYSALIS: REBIRTH…)


End file.
